THE
OAK SHADE,
OR
RECORDS
OF A
VILLAGE LITERARY ASSOCIATION.
EDITED BY
MAURICE EUGENE.
PHILADELPHIA:
WILLIS P. HAZZARD,
178 CHESTNUT STREET.
1855.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by
ALEX. C. BRYSON, (for the Editor,)
In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States,
in and for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
ALEX. C. BRYSON, PRINTER,
141 Chestnut Street.
CONTENTS.
DEDICATION 5
PREFACE 9
HANS DUNDERMANN: THE DUTCH MISER 11
THE WISDOM OF PRESERVING MODERATION IN OUR WISHES 43
THE SICK MOTHER 53
THE EXCELLENCIES OF LYING 75
THE ALCHEMIST: OR, THE MAGIC FUNNEL 87
THE BEAUTY OF A WELL-CULTIVATED HEART 123
THE DREAM OF A LOAFER 133
CONCLUSION 213
DEDICATION.
In this age of prolific intellects, neither author nor editor is
compelled to search for a patron of letters amongst a horde of
illiterate and conceited noblemen, addle-pated princes and lords; nor
is he, in this progressive country, constrained to beg the favor of
some distinguished demagogue’s name to give caste or currency to the
lucubrations of his brain, or the compilations of his industry. This
may be regarded as a very favorable change in the times, yet it is not
without its inconveniences, which the editor has fully experienced.
Not being bold enough to violate a well-established precedent, and
send his volume forth into the world without a dedication, he was for
a while sorely perplexed in his inquiries for a proper person to whom
to inscribe it. Although modern progress could freely dispense with
the patronage of the nobility, it still retains the practice which
perpetuates their former importance in the literary market. Thus the
author who is too cautious to trample upon a time-honored custom, is
frequently no little embarrassed in his laudable efforts to observe it,
not having an array of aristocratic vanity, ever ready to be redeemed
from its insignificance through a lying dedication, from which to make
a choice to please his fancy.
True, the editor might have determined to send his volume adrift under
false colors, by writing some imaginary creature’s name upon the
title-page, and then dedicated it to himself,--for which, no doubt,
he could have found precedents enough. After giving to this idea
the careful deliberation to which it was entitled, he came to the
conclusion that no better expedient could be devised to provide him
with an even disposition; for should he hear his name noised about by
every fool and knave, who are always so vociferous in their praise
or censure as to overrule entirely the worthier opinions of the wise
and honest, his temper would never fall below the seething point.
He therefore wisely avoided, in this wilful manner, to hazard both
his character and his happiness. “But,” he hears you ask, “had he no
rich and flourishing acquaintance, who would gladly have permitted
the inscription, and verily believed it a great honor?” He is not so
fortunate (or unfortunate, if you please,) as to be without at least
a score of the kind; but not one of whom would have failed to degrade
his book, through a cursed propensity “to turn everything into a
speculation.” Then, too, he might have dedicated it to some personal
friend, but upon looking around, he could see none whom he particularly
desired to own as such, except a few poor fellows with whom he
occasionally whiles away an entertaining hour on a gloomy Sunday.
Amongst these, however, he recognised none whose poverty,--than which
few things sooner fall under the ban of the world,--did not seem too
heavy a burthen to be borne by so unpretending a production.
In this dilemma, his benevolence, perhaps a little influenced by the
thought that the man who reads his book is his best friend, came to his
aid, and he at once concluded that it should be generously and freely
DEDICATED TO THE READER.
He is not impelled to this by a design to propitiate the favor, to
influence the judgment, or to moderate the criticisms of any one,
but simply and solely by the charitable desire of pleasing all. He
thus provokes no one’s envy by showing more favor to another, and
gives to each the opportunity of having a book dedicated to himself.
Lest, however, the editor should furnish but another illustration of
the maxim, that “they who seek to please all, will surely succeed in
pleasing none,” it is here carefully set down--that should any not wish
the distinction sought to be conferred upon him in this dedication, he
may rest well assured that it was not in the least designed for him.
With this happy disposition to accommodate all, he has only to ask of
the reader, that his book be not consigned, before ascertaining what
it is made of, to some murky closet, to keep company with the dusty
and decaying volumes already imprisoned there; and for the faithful
observance of this request, he subscribes himself,
Most respectfully and sincerely,
His Reader’s wellwisher and friend,
THE EDITOR.
PREFACE.
If it has been established as a precedent that every book should have
a dedication, it has been more imperatively enjoined that none should
make its appearance without a preface. These are matters of punctilio
which it might appear ill-breeding to neglect, and constitute the soft
and easy civilities through which books find favor in the eyes of their
readers. As no one is disposed kindly to welcome the rude boor who
intrudes into his presence, and without a polite nod or pleasant smile
at once encounters him with rough speech, so none is inclined to enter
upon the perusal of a volume without first knowing somewhat concerning
it.
Now, it is only necessary for the editor, in the discharge of his
trifling duty, to inform the reader that sometime ago the records of an
old association came into his possession. The precise date when this
junto was formed could not be definitely discovered, yet it has been
certainly ascertained that it was gifted with a very peculiar kind of
life--surpassing, in the tenacity with which it adhered to existence,
the nine lives ascribed to the cat. Though it had been defunct, to
all appearances, more than a dozen times, it was as often revived to
flourish again for a brief period. Not many years have elapsed since
it received its last blow; but whether this has given it the final
quietus, being neither a diviner nor prophet, the editor cannot decide:
yet he is inclined to the opinion, that if those of the present
generation will do nothing to restore it to life again, their rising
posterity will not suffer it to sleep in peace.
It was the design of this organization to unite the useful with the
amusing, and each member was required to furnish his quota of the one
or the other. The consequence was that a large number of papers were
collected together, some of which are now “for the first time given to
the world.” Whether the world will do them the honor to value them,
remains to be seen; yet the editor flatters himself, that in the deluge
of literature which this age is incessantly pouring forth upon the
poor reader, they will float along with the endless array of small
craft, and perhaps his book may prove as successful as some others in
contributing its just portion to produce the wreck and ruin of some
better and worthier production.
The Magi of Persia were at one time the depositories of learning.
With us the people are the Magi, and although their unaccountable
tastes and Quixotic fancies have heretofore elevated into note the
effusions of many a fool who experimented upon their discrimination,
and permitted the productions of some very wise men to sink into utter
and irredeemable oblivion, the editor still trusts--if not to their
judgment, then (which may be safer for him,) to their good-natured
indulgence. He is fully aware that his book contains nothing above
their comprehensions, and is not in the least apprehensive that they
will condemn the RECORDS, as an old council did the _Petit Office_,
because “_signo_” was spelt with a C instead of an S: much less does he
fear that his freedom will be endangered for the reason which prompted
the same council to arrest the Prince de la Mirandola, because “so much
learning in so young a person could only be acquired by a compact with
the devil.”
MAURICE EUGENE.
PHILADELPHIA, _March 26, 1855_.
A MANUSCRIPT,
PREFIXED TO THE FOLLOWING TALE, AND SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN WRITTEN BY
THE SECRETARY OF THE JUNTO.
The author of the following paper vouches for the correctness of the
whole story, having himself received it from the person who enacted the
part of the spirit therein. When it was read at our meeting, a large
number of listeners, who had been enjoying themselves in promiscuous
conversation, were seated around the table in a cheerful circle.
Although some were at first inclined, perhaps more from a habit to
find fault than from a displeasure at the tale itself, to cavil at and
doubt it rather than to be amused, there was an honest and bewitching
humor in the face of the speaker which alone seemed to entitle his
story to full belief: so that by the time he had finished it, but one
or two continued serious, whilst all the rest at once agreed that it
was creditable in every particular. Whether they were not influenced to
this conclusion more through their mirth than their careful judgment, I
could not well ascertain; yet I am disposed to think, they merely meant
to “take the story for what it was worth.”
An old gentleman now advanced, who had not only been careful all his
life long to avoid the frivolities of the world, but who had also
experienced some of its rough realities, if true inferences were
deducible from his care-worn appearance and thread-bare garments.
Not satisfied with what had been read, the old man gazed inquiringly
into the speaker’s face, and then so overwhelmed the poor fellow with
troublesome questions, that he resolved from that moment never to
read or narrate another story, without previously demanding a solemn
pledge from his auditory that they will remain content with what he
may choose to give them, and under no circumstances trouble him for
further explanations. Whilst thus pelted with the old man’s queries to
his great relief a smiling little gentleman stepped up, and turning to
the questioner, told him that every story would be spoiled by too much
minuteness in its narration; that wherever he found a blank he should
fill it up with his own fancy, otherwise he would experience nothing
but annoyance; and that the moral of the tale he had heard, simply
warned him against too strong a love for worldly things,--a warning for
which I could see no necessity in his case,--so that if he should ever
be tempted by spirits or ghosts, he might avoid the alarming fatalities
which so seriously afflicted poor Hans Dundermann.
S----Y.
HANS DUNDERMANN: THE DUTCH MISER.
One of the most foolish and deplorable passions that could possibly
influence the conduct of men, is that wretched penuriousness so
frequently encountered in our intercourse with some of our fellows.
We often find it the object of hatred and contempt, of disgust and
ridicule, and even of a bitter malice which, if not just, seldom
secures censure or elicits rebuke. We rarely see it exhibited to a
very marked degree in men of substantial intelligence or liberal
experience in the socialities of life, and its generous interchanges
of friendship. When discovered in such, it is usually the part of
discretion to avoid, if possible, a close intimacy with them. The wider
range of their knowledge, and their greater sagacity, though rendering
them less contemptible, only make them the more dangerous. It not
unfrequently, however, constitutes the ruling principle of those not
possessed of a superior order of intellect, and whose ideas of life
are measured by the narrow aims for which they contend and struggle.
This may, perhaps, be greatly owing to the fact that wealth consists of
material things, which they can readily see and appreciate; whilst the
riches that pertain to mind and heart, not being directly visible to
them, are beyond their comprehension.
I have a German acquaintance who resides in a small village at which I
occasionally sojourn, and who is known by the euphonious nomenclature
of Dutch Hans Dundermann. Whether this be the name he lawfully
inherited from his paternal ancestors, or whether certain peculiarities
of which he is remarkably possessed, and which are by no means well
calculated to render him an agreeable companion, or make him a
desirable neighbor, can claim the credit of having obtained for him so
musical an appellation, the villagers have not yet been able positively
to determine. However he may have acquired this title of recognition,
which can be matter of small consequence to the present generation of
the villagers, and much less to their rising posterity, he is one of
those inveterate misers who have no scruples to check their desire
for acquisition, and whose parsimonious propensities invariably incur
general ridicule and displeasure. Whatever of good may be in their
compositions is totally overshadowed by the sordid motives which
usually govern them, and thus they always prove successful in arousing
the disgust of all with whom they may come in contact. This miserly
element in Hans Dundermann’s character is so exceedingly prominent that
it is supposed to counterbalance and control his entire nature. It is
constantly urging him to the commission of acts which his neighbors
readily construe into heinous offences, and it has accordingly earned
for him no very enviable reputation. To describe to any one acquainted
with him the height of petty and disgusting meanness, it is only
necessary to use his name in the adjective form; and the attempts to do
so are not unfrequently even more ridiculous than the subjects which
occasion them. Hans, however, though he may exert himself to increase
his store, if not absolutely lazy, is not free from the slowness of
his native race; to which he adds a stupidity so excessively Dutch,
that scarcely anything beyond the glitter of a coin can make the least
impression upon his mind.
After thus briefly introducing my acquaintance in as favorable a manner
as circumstances permit, I will narrate a little incident in the
adventurous portion of his life, which occurred whilst he was yet in
the vigor of manhood physically, and intellectually no better off than
he is now. Time, which never progresses without making some changes,
has utterly failed to renovate or improve him. Whilst advancing years
have worn upon his bodily powers, apparently the only thing impressible
about him, experience has had no effect, either for the better or
worse, upon his mind, into which no idea, unless connected with his
ruling desire, seems capable of penetrating. A life so selfish, and
absorbed in the contemplation of one thing, and that by no means as
well intended to expand his intellect as to contract his heart, can
afford but little of adventure; yet the trifles which we sometimes
encounter in such a life, are so peculiar in their nature, or so marked
in their effects, that we welcome and enjoy them the more. They often
provoke our merriment or elicit our surprise, excite our admiration or
awaken our sympathies. The cold torpor which becomes natural to the
inactive man through the eternal sameness of his daily career, renders
him a fitting and interesting object for our gaze when he is drawn
into positions demanding the exercise of his energies. Whatever may be
the effect of the occurrences here related--whether their recital may
interest or prove tedious--they certainly constitute the most prominent
events in the life of my acquaintance, the Dutch miser of the village.
A party of young men who had for years been in the habit of
congregating twice each week at the southern corner of the village
school-house, to review the gossip of the neighborhood and amuse
themselves with boyish sports on the pleasant play-grounds of the
scholars; or, by way of variety, occasionally to contrive some idle
mischief to disturb the equanimity of the usually quiet and industrious
villagers; at one of these frequent meetings determined to exhibit,
in some extraordinary manner, Hans Dundermann’s passion for money.
Various expedients were accordingly suggested, and duly discussed
and considered, until they finally resolved upon one supposed to be
capable of accomplishing the end in view. After levying a contribution
amongst themselves of all the antiquated coin they could obtain,--for
they wisely concluded that he could not be aroused from his accustomed
stupidity but through the instrumentality of such a token,--the sum was
secretly conveyed to him. This was accompanied by a very mysterious
letter, which purported to be the favor of some supernatural power.
It spoke of the coin as coming from an almost inexhaustible fund, and
generously concluded by fully recognising him as a judicious person to
be entrusted with the care and keeping of so valuable a treasure. As
was anticipated, this had a marvelous effect upon him. He straightways
connected it with a standing tale of the village, which he had heard
upon different occasions, and which had more than once greatly excited
his curiosity. It was a well-circulated tradition, (and what town
has not a similar one?) that many years before the village numbered
a score of substantial buildings, vast treasures were undoubtedly
hidden in its immediate vicinity. He had frequently heard how a wealthy
Englishman, at a time the date whereof was never definitely fixed,
had lived near the village in all imaginable splendor, and how he had
died without leaving even so much as a shilling to be found upon his
entire premises. This splendid gentleman (so runs the tradition,) had
been the descendant of a prominent English nobleman attached to the
house of Lancaster, who, when the Red Rose drooped under the terror
inspired by the triumph of the house of York, had gathered together his
estates, which of course were very large, and retired from the kingdom.
The union of the two Roses, which followed the extinction of the
Plantagenets, and the partiality exhibited by Henry VII. towards the
Lancastrians, never tempted him to return. The last of his descendants,
inheriting all his wealth, yet depressed by the death of friends and
connexions, eventually emigrated to America, and took up his abode near
the village. Here he revelled in all the luxuries that riches could
supply, and when nothing was discovered after his decease, the great
surprise of the villagers soon conjured up numerous tales of hidden
wealth, which have ever since been carefully transmitted to each
succeeding generation. It was with one of these that Hans associated
the mysterious epistle.
After they had thus interested the miser’s feelings, one of the company
visited him on the evening of the following day. When brought into
the presence of Hans, he commenced a train of very vague remarks,
as though he had something important to reveal, yet seemed doubtful
whether it were better to make it known than to treasure the secret.
Confining himself to the subjects which he knew were ever uppermost
in Hans’ thoughts, he soon succeeded in drawing the miser into a very
animated conversation, which, however, was rendered somewhat uneasy by
his mysterious demeanor. From some cause or other, perhaps because he
was thinking of the matter at the time, for he had thought of little
else during the entire day, Hans immediately surmised that his visitor
sustained some connexion with the singular letter he had received.
This impression was not only strengthened more and more by every word
that fell from the stranger, but his very dress, which gave him the
appearance of a fashionable gentleman of the preceding century, seemed
to confirm it. When, however, his visitor introduced the general
carelessness of the world, a point upon which Hans had always been well
decided, and to which alone, he had often said, was to be attributed
all the poverty in it, he became certain that his surmise was correct,
and watched carefully for something which might reveal the rich mine
referred to in that mysterious and treasured billet. When he had been
worked into a state of uncontrollable anxiety and excitement, the
stranger, still preserving his mysterious air, suddenly rose from his
seat, and rolling his eyes upwards in an agonized manner, preceded by
several terrible yawns, he rapidly repeated a few very singular words,
not found in Hans’ vocabulary, if in any other. This had the desired
effect, for it so surprised and stupefied the poor Dutchman that the
stranger, in the increasing darkness, readily made his exit unobserved.
After the miser had somewhat recovered from the shock occasioned to
his nerves and ascertained that his visitor had vanished, it was clear
to him that the stranger could not have disappeared as he had entered,
but must either have sunk through the floor or ascended through the
ceiling. Recollecting the supplicating manner in which he had turned up
his eyes, Hans quickly inferred that the latter was the course he had
taken, and under the exciting circumstances of the occasion, it was not
long before the inference became a conviction which has ever since been
most sacredly believed and maintained.
Now, Hans Dundermann, it should be known, had frequently held
interesting conversations with Heinrich Speitzer and Yorick Bozum,
two of his most intimate friends in “vaterland,” and was perfectly
satisfied that ghosts and spirits had as real an existence as gold
and silver, though their presence was far less acceptable. He used to
listen to the stories of these tried companions, and tremble from head
to foot when he was told how the wicked Frederick Metzel, on a dark and
dismal winter’s night, had been claimed in pursuance of a contract,
attested by his own hand and seal, and carried off by the devil, amid
great lightning and thunder, to no one knew whither; for the place of
his abode was beyond the power of human discovery. It is true some of
his warmest friends, who had always been his companions, and enjoyed
his favors during his prosperity, and who had never neglected to
sound his praises upon every fitting occasion, now shook their heads
significantly and solemnly whenever his name was mentioned. This may
have been intended as nothing but an exhibition of their deep regret
for what they had lost, yet the uncharitable soon interpreted it
unfavorably for the future of poor Frederick, whilst the more humane
and hopeful remained silent, simply because they knew not what to say.
Hans still remembered how the spirit of old Herr Von Reicher, sorely
troubled because he had refused to reveal an important secret before
his departure from the lower world, returned to the home six months
previously left to mourn his death, and made known to the daughter
of his grand-child,--who had always been his favorite,--the cause
that prevented his rest. This was done by directing her to a dark and
almost impenetrable recess of his castle, where great treasures were
concealed, which he had hoarded up and frequently visited during his
life. Now, however, that he had no further occasion for such visits,
his sense of justice, which had never in the least troubled him
whilst living, would not permit him to deprive his friends, who had
so carefully attended to his dying wants, of so valuable a secret,
nor his creditors of the only means through which their demands
could be satisfied. Nor had Hans Dundermann forgotten how the son of
Karl Keiser, a pleasant companion with whom he had spent many hours
rehearsing wonderful tales, the accuracy of which he never doubted,
had been accosted in the rough woods, on a dark October night, by a
copper-colored man, out of the crown of whose head issued a constant
flame of fire, and led several leagues from home. What had been the
object of this singular and startling apparition--whether it had been
an evil spirit and intended the young man as one of its victims, or
whether it had merely meant to disclose some great and troublesome
mystery--had to remain undetermined, for day intervened and summoned
the vision to its abiding place. Many surmises were occasioned by
this strange affair, vouched for by the person himself whom it most
concerned; but the majority agreed in the opinion that no harm had been
intended to the young man, otherwise the spectre would not have waited
until daylight to be deprived of its prey: others expressed their
conviction that it simply designed to relieve itself of some serious
trouble, whilst there was still a third class who pronounced the matter
all a foolish tale, which owed its origin to too much Rhienish wine and
the cold winds of October.
Whilst Hans was reflecting upon these marvelous stories of his youthful
wonder, and thus endeavoring to assist his mind in determining the
character of his late visitor, he gave evident signs of being engaged
in a new employment. Although he had heard many strange things in his
time, and often threw up his hands towards the skies, opened his mouth
as wide as nature permitted, and exclaimed “mein Gott!” in surprise, he
certainly had never before been called upon to decide whether any of
his visions had been a ghost or a spirit, a witch or the devil himself.
In this troublesome dilemma he resolved to consult his old housekeeper,
whom he had brought with him from Germany, and whose greater age and
experience, he hoped, might be capable of relieving him from his
perplexity. This indispensable article of his household seemed to have
descended to him with his father’s estate, and presented an appearance
even more than ridiculously Dutch; but Hans had been taught to regard
her as a pattern of good taste, and as she had always manifested the
strongest devotion to his interests, he never doubted her superior
excellence. To give a faint description of her would be no trifling
labor, for she had apparently been worked together by nature without
reference to form or proportion; and whenever seen, was invariably
covered with a superfluous amount of greasy calico, which seemed to
have no other support but a twisted chord that encircled her extensive
waist. Her head was remarkable for nothing but a large quantity of
light flaxen hair, to which the sun had failed to give a ruddier tinge,
although, as since her twentieth year she had scarcely ever worn a
covering, it had shone upon her pate fairly and with full effect for
more than thirty summers. Increasing age, though it had robbed her of
her teeth, put wrinkles in her face, and somewhat loosened her joints,
seemed to be equally powerless to make the least visible impression
upon it. The singular conduct of the stranger, who had been observed
but casually by the old woman as he had entered, was fully considered
and commented upon by her and Hans. Though she sympathized with him
as much as her nature permitted, and gave ample evidence of her desire
to render him all possible assistance, she could offer no suggestions
which tended in the least to solve the mystery. Her many exclamations,
however, if useless in the explication of a mysterious and difficult
problem, brought some relief; and thus consoled, he reluctantly
concluded to await the full development of what he believed had just
fairly commenced with the letter he had received and the visit of the
stranger.
“Whatever this may forebode,” said Hans, “it is so very strange that we
must wait until the end shall come; yet I hope that my end may not be
like that of Frederick Metzel. Let me be spared the terrors that fell
to the lot of Karl Keiser’s son, and if the worst should come, let it
be no worse than that which happened to the great-grand-daughter of
Herr Von Reicher.”
These remarkable occurrences, constituting some of the most startling
he had stored up in his memory, had been so repeatedly told to his
housekeeper, with great embellishments, that she had become perfectly
familiar with them. Although Hans did not much like to have dealings
with spirits; yet, had he been certain that the mysterious stranger
would never afterwards have troubled him, he would gladly have
entertained him once more, if assured of a revelation similar to that
made to the youthful daughter of Herr Von Reicher’s grand-child.
“Yes, yes,” responded the old woman, whose frame trembled violently at
the supposition that calamities so terrible could possibly befall them,
“heaven avert such fatalities! Surely, Hans, nothing of this kind can
happen to us, for you have never had any intercourse with the evil one,
nor have you ever been closely allied to any of those poor creatures
whose spirits are not even permitted to rest quietly in their graves.”
As he had thus, for several days been moved by strange thoughts, it
was observed by those whom he happened to meet that a very singular
change had suddenly come over him. His actions seemed to be dictated
by a variety of conflicting impulses, and the little mind he had once
possessed was absent more than half the time. He would make long pauses
in his conversation, abruptly change from one topic to another, and
occasionally, to the great amazement of those with whom he conversed,
he would walk off before he had half completed a sentence. Then, too,
he was frequently seen to stop in his solitary walks and engage in
earnest conversation with himself, a smile sometimes animating his
countenance, whilst at others he appeared very sullen and dejected.
On several of these occasions he was overheard to speak audibly of
spirits and treasures, which so greatly surprised all who heard
him that some even suggested an investigation into his soundness of
mind. To those acquainted with the design to play upon his stupid and
credulous nature, it was daily becoming more apparent that he believed
vast quantities of gold were somewhere concealed in the vicinity, and
that he was troubled to know where, and how he could secure them. At
length his changed demeanor became the subject of remark throughout
the entire neighborhood. Some of the villagers, in their efforts to
account for it, expressed the belief that his heart was beginning
to soften and that he was relenting of his former penuriousness--a
reformation which, in his case, it was generally conceded would have
been sufficient to account for his singular conduct. Others, however,
more strenuously maintained, that so far from his heart undergoing
so favorable a change, it was simply passing through the last stages
of ossification. That the former were mistaken in their charitable
surmises, was soon ascertained by an experiment eminently calculated to
arouse his generosity; but there are those still amongst the latter,
who contend that they were correct in their opinion, and are determined
to obtain positive evidence of the fact, upon the miser’s decease,
through the aid of an anatomist, who has already been duly engaged for
that purpose.
When it was supposed that Hans was exclusively abstracted in the train
of reflections suggested to his mind by the circumstances related,
it was deemed expedient for the stranger to venture another visit,
which he accordingly did. It so happened that he obtained admission
unobserved into the same room in which he had before met Hans, and
giving seven distinct raps on the old oaken floor, he was soon brought
into the presence of the miser. After the latter’s surprise had
partially subsided, and his face assumed something like its original
hue, the stranger commenced addressing him in a manner equally hasty
and incoherent, but Hans was all attention as if determined to absorb
the import of every word as it was uttered. He by no means comprehended
all that was said, yet he distinctly understood the request of his
visitor to meet him that night, at the hour of twelve, at the edge of
the wood bordering on the western extremity of the village, where the
important secret was to be revealed. The stranger had scarcely finished
this request, when he was seized with a violent cough, resulting from
a stream of munched tobacco which had unforbidden entered down his
gullet, as if offended at being imprisoned within his mouth whilst
personating a character whose dignity would not permit him to eject
it. Giving vent to an almost inaudible curse, which was unfortunately
mistaken for a call for water, Hans immediately seized a pitcher, and
hurried out of the room, informing the old housekeeper, as he was in
the act of passing her in the kitchen, of the presence of the spirit.
Upon her reminding him that spirits were never in want of such earthly
necessaries, surprised at his own absence of thought, he dropped the
pitcher and quickly returned; but the stranger, no doubt glad of so
favorable an opportunity, had disappeared.
Hans Dundermann, at the earnest entreaty of his old housekeeper, whom
I shall here name Malchen, not because she was so christened, but
simply out of solicitude for the jaw-bones of those who might attempt
to pronounce her ponderous title were it fully given, retired to his
bed at an early hour that evening. It has already been stated that
he desired no intimacy with spirits, and especially with such as
disappeared so unexpectedly; but his endeavors to banish from his mind
the request of the stranger were unavailing, and the tempting promise
which accompanied it would not permit him to close his eyes in sleep.
Impelled by an irresistible anxiety to secure the imagined treasure, he
arose from his bed, and walked up and down the room in great agitation
until within a few minutes of midnight. His love of gold, however, at
last succeeded in conquering his fears, so, seizing a German bible,
which had evidently grown antiquated by neglect amid dust and cobwebs,
and cautiously placing it in his capacious pocket, for he had often
heard that whilst he had so good a book about his person no evil spirit
could harm him, he repaired to the appointed spot. Here he had for
some time been intently peering into the dark wood, when suddenly he
heard a strange noise behind him, and upon turning he obtained a full
view of the stranger, who had taken the precaution to provide against
the prevailing darkness by a lantern, the red rays of which only gave
to everything around a more gloomy appearance. Hans involuntarily
startled and most heartily wished himself in his bed again, but it
was now too late. Gazing supplicatingly into the pale face of the
spirit, for he was fully persuaded that he stood in the presence of
a veritable spirit, he commenced imploringly inquiring about his
personal safety and the prospect of securing the treasure. His appeal,
however, failed to draw a word of consolation or encouragement from
his supernatural companion who simply indicated by a sign that silence
had to be observed, and pointing into the uninviting wood signified to
him to move on. Tremblingly the miser proceeded, frequently staring
wildly around. Whether it was all imagination, or a fancy which had
some substance for its basis, he certainly thought, upon passing
several large trees, he saw odd figures behind them. However this
may have been, a death-like silence was maintained, nor did Hans seem
inclined to break it after his first rebuff. At length they arrived
at a small old building, which, though it was not many miles from his
residence, he had never before seen. All now surrounding him was dark
and strange, and he gazed upon the structure with mingled emotions the
like of which he had never before experienced. Whilst endeavoring to
collect his wandering wits during this momentary halt at the antiquated
building, an unearthly howl was suddenly set up around it, which so
frightened him that he at once attempted to test what virtue there
was in his heels. Alas! poor Hans! His knees knocked together and his
frame shook so violently, he could not move. He was as much a prisoner
to his terror as the chained criminal in his cell. It was now that
the solicitous advice of his faithful Malchen came rushing upon his
memory, and he deplored the folly which had caused him to disobey it.
His regrets however, it is believed, were more owing to the wealth he
had left behind him than to his having disregarded her good advice, for
he began to apprehend that he should never see it more. During this
interval of his great consternation, the spirit had remained perfectly
calm and composed; and after the noise had entirely subsided it again
exhorted him to silence, and softly whispered into his ears that
the place was surrounded and protected by numerous imps of the devil
who had been commissioned to guard the treasure. Though many before
Hans’ time may have been in equally close contact with some of Satan’s
extensive brood and felt no fear, and although he had spent nearly all
his days in executing to their master an indisputable title to himself,
he found no consolation in what the spirit had told him. If he was
inclined to render service to Lucifer he preferred doing so at a more
convenient distance from him.
Without any visible intervention of the spirit, at least such is
the testimony of Hans Dundermann, an opening into the cellar of the
building now appeared. Here he was bidden to enter, which he did more
through fear than inclination, attended by his mysterious guide. The
red glare reflected by the lantern, gave the place a very solemn and
haunted appearance, and made the old walls resemble more the neglected
ruins of some venerable edifice, than what they purported to be. They
had evidently been built when masonic skill was in its infancy and when
huge, substantial clumsiness was the fashion. He surveyed the cavern,
for such it appeared to him, with wild respect, confident that this had
once been the retreat of the Englishman whose memory had so long been
perpetuated in the traditions of the village. What was next to befall
him, now that he was entirely at the mercy and in the power of the
spirit, he could not divine. He was carefully watching its movements
as it walked around the cellar, cautiously treading the damp ground,
until it came to a stand, and beckoned him to approach. Here, then, he
ascertained, was hidden the treasure which had so much engrossed his
attention, and caused him so many perplexing thoughts. His fears now
yielded to the first flushes occasioned by the almost certain assurance
of securing the hoarded gold. Thus animated by the promising prospect
before him; his recent regrets were entirely forgotten, and he felt
pleased and proud that he had left his bed for so bold and profitable
an adventure. His anxious anticipations, however, were not to be so
easily gratified as he had at first imagined. The wealth he coveted was
still a considerable distance under ground, but this, to him, appeared
but a trifling obstacle. He had often handled the pick and spade for
a paltry price per diem; and now, that a great reward was to be the
issue, he could use them to advantage. The requisite utensils were
soon supplied by the spirit, and Hans squandered no time in commencing
vigorous operations. Though a veritable Dutchman, he entirely lost
the Dutchman’s slowness upon this memorable occasion. He relied more
upon energetic effort for success than upon tedious perseverance
and plodding patience, and the soft earth was made to fly in every
direction. The excitement of the employment soon brought back his usual
complexion, and gave his plump face a greasy and shining appearance;
when off went hat and coat, and every other article of apparel which
generally encumbers a Dutchman whilst at labor. He was now too intently
engaged to pay any attention to the spirit, which made its exit from
the cellar unnoticed and unheeded.
For some time all continued quiet, not a sound being heard beyond
the noise occasioned by himself. He was making rapid progress and
congratulating himself upon soon reaching the expected bounty, when
his pleasant reflections were suddenly disturbed by another terrible
and unearthly howl, much resembling that which had before so greatly
excited his fears. In its hollow re-echoes through the cellar it was
rendered even more terrific. The spade dropped from his hand, and
turning round in his bewilderment, he now first discovered that the
spirit had abandoned him. Although he had previously most heartily
desired it to leave him and permit him to find his way home again, he
now regarded its disappearance as ominous of ill. Alone, with nothing
but a credulous and excited imagination for his guide, he was made the
victim of a thousand unpleasant impulses, and realized all the dread
horrors of unrestrained fear. His face became deathly pale and big
drops of cold perspiration stood upon it, whilst his hair rose on end
and his eyes dilated and literally sparkled. For a time, as he stood
the impersonation of terror, he was unable to comprehend his position,
but with returning reason he applied himself to diligent search for
the opening through which he had entered. Every nook and corner was
quickly examined, but no means of escape were discoverable. Although
that awful howl subsided almost simultaneously with his dropping of
the spade, he could not approach the spot where he had been digging
for the treasure without hearing it again. Had not the spirit told
him that the place was guarded by the imps of the devil, and how
could he be expected to withstand them? Had not Frederick Metzel been
carried off, notwithstanding his resistance, and never heard of more?
Oh, Malchen, this for neglecting your anxious and wholesome advice!
All these reflections, and ten thousand others no more comforting
in their nature, passed rapidly through his mind. The thoughts of a
life-time were now crowded into a few of his minutes, and a volume
could not give a faithful transcript of the many marvelous stories
that spontaneously rushed through his brain. When the devil seemed
determined to prevent Luther from prosecuting his work, the Reformer
seized an ink-stand and hurled it at his head. Though the missile
had little effect upon the object at which it was aimed, being simply
dashed to pieces against the wall, upon which the black marks are said
still to remain, the tormentor nevertheless vanished. Hans could not
deal thus summarily with the great adversary, who happened to have no
small claim upon his miserly soul, ready for settlement at any moment.
Debtors, and especially those indebted to Satan, are obliged to be more
courteous. He was therefore compelled to yield to an influence which
his more devotional countryman had only overcome with great difficulty.
All ideas of obtaining the treasure were accordingly abandoned, and
imprisoned as he was, his first great care was to effect his release.
How this was to be accomplished he knew not, as he more slowly and
carefully re-examined the old walls, with lantern in hand, escaping
only the place where he had so faithfully dug for the hidden wealth.
That he could not think of approaching, for he now distinctly and
unmistakeably saw a half grown imp seated upon the fresh earth he had
thrown up, who was eyeing him in no very complacent manner. Hans has
since described him as the very image of a picture in one of his German
books, which he had often contemplated with feelings of melancholy
dread, and which had equally often puzzled his brain by the thoughts
invariably suggested to his mind whenever he beheld it. He never could
divine the real policy of tolerating the existence of such hideous
monsters; and, perhaps more influenced by personal considerations than
feelings of charity for mankind in general, he had frequently most
heartily wished their utter extermination and the total annihilation
of their constantly increasing kingdom. The puny devil before Hans’
eyes was undoubtedly a legitimate offshoot of the parent stock. He
had a large two-pronged fork in his right hand, and in his left he
held one end of a strong chain, whilst the other was fastened to his
body, so that its great bulk had to trail upon the ground. His long
tail, pointed like an arrow, and erected several feet above his head,
appeared even more formidable than the fork. His posture much resembled
that of an old man, seated upon a low stool, his stiff legs drawn up
towards his body. He was almost entirely covered with rough, brown
hair, and the bristles upon his head pointed in every direction. There
was a fiery glitter in his eyes, and the expression of his countenance,
according to Hans’ description, could be handsomely counterfeited by
compounding together the faces of a grinning monkey and a fat Dutchman.
At last, fortunately, Hans Dundermann thought he discovered a prospect
of delivery from his torments. Not possessing the magic power of the
spiritual guide that had led him into this horrible prison, the walls
could not be expected to part at his simple bidding, and he therefore
wisely determined to test the virtue of more natural means. Seizing the
spade, he made a number of vigorous thrusts against the substantial
masonry, which, though it resisted his efforts for a considerable time,
was eventually compelled to yield him a passage, through which he could
escape. Thanks! he was now once more in the open air and breathed
again! The devils set up another howl, as if in exultation, and several
seemed to be slyly approaching him; but Hans, relying upon his nether
limbs, which appeared to have derived strength for the occasion,
hurried off with remarkable rapidity. Not content, however, with having
prevented him from obtaining the treasure, the whole pack of imps now
followed close upon his heels, crying his name at the top of their
voices, but this only increased his speed the more. No obstacle seemed
a hindrance to him. Dark as it was, he scaled the rocks, and stones,
and stumps, in his leaps, as on he flew, leaving those in pursuit far
behind. There was no manifestation of the tardy Dutchman in that chase,
as he pursued his course for miles, not knowing whither it led and
feeling little inclination to pause and consider. When, at last, he
came to a stand, lo! the veritable spirit which had enticed him into
the wood stood at his side and was calmly gazing upon him. Hans shut
his eyes, but it was still there. Drawing in his breath, he bolted in
another direction with a speed that outdistanced even this supernatural
vision, but led him far from his home. Hatless and coatless, he
eventually seated himself upon the earth, determined to await the
approach of day. Though he knew not in what locality he was, nor how,
lost in the wood, he should find the village again, he was yet consoled
by the reflection that he was free from the clutches of satan and his
imps. The terrors of Karl Keiser’s son had been nothing in comparison
to those he had endured.
When morning dawned,--and never had Hans Dundermann more welcomed the
approach of day,--he betook himself to the difficult task of searching
for his home. His venerable housekeeper had been thrown into great
consternation upon discovering his absence. Not knowing whither he had
gone, or what had become of him, her fears at once made her conclude
that he had shared the sad fate of Frederick Metzel, and been carried
off by the spirit during the night, as a terrible punishment for having
neglected to meet it as he had been requested. She now reproached
herself for having obtruded her advice upon him, but to make amends,
she told the matter to her neighbors, and search was immediately
commenced for the lost. He was not discovered until the succeeding
day, and when brought to his residence to the great delight of Malchen,
gave a narration of his adventures which alike astonished the credulous
and amused the doubting.