Michel was a good lad. He was the only son of a widow, who, after her
husband’s early death, was left alone with him and two little girls. By
great sacrifices she had brought up her three children, kept them warm
and clean, sent them to school, and educated them. Michel, from his
tenth year, had faithfully helped her. At first he had picked up dung
on the highway and caught cockchafers, for which the parish paid him a
few pennies a quart. Then he had tended sheep and helped to gather the
fruit at harvest time. When he was sixteen, he went into a farmer’s
service, and from that hour, he not only supported himself but also
aided his mother and sisters. Several years after, both the girls
married, one the village carpenter, the other the schoolmaster; for, in
spite of their poverty, they were known and respected by all the
villagers for their modesty, their beauty, and their clever brains.
One Sunday, soon after his younger sister’s marriage, Michel went to
his mother and said: “Mother, I am twenty-one years old, tall and
strong, and skilful in all farm work. Without praising myself, there is
not a farm hand for ten miles around who can make a straighter furrow
or build so good a hay-rick as I, to say nothing of mowing, threshing,
and cattle tending.”
“I know that, my boy,” replied the widow, somewhat surprised by this
speech; “but why do you tell me this?”
“Because I have determined to see a little of the world. I want to go
on my travels.”
“Stay in the country and support yourself honestly,” warned the mother.
“I can accomplish nothing here,” Michel answered. “In foreign countries
I shall learn all sorts of things, save something, and if I have good
luck, in time I shall rule as owner on my own farm.”
“That would be fine, surely,” murmured the mother; “but it is not
easy.”
“Nothing in this world is easy, at least for people like us,” said
Michel; “but I can try hard things, too; I have the bones for it.”
The mother could not help admitting that he was right, though it was
hard for her to part from her good son. In order not to be alone, she
moved into the house of her daughter, the carpenter’s wife, and Michel
promised always to send her money, whenever he had any to spare. His
master, the farmer, gave him three gold coins, his brother-in-law, the
schoolmaster, a knapsack and a hymn-book, his brother-in-law, the
carpenter, a stout knotted stick, and his mother her blessing, to take
with him on his way. Thus equipped, after a touching leave-taking with
his family, he left his village one sunny autumn morning and set forth
into the wide world. After some time a fellow joined him on the highway
and, when they had exchanged greetings, asked: “Where did you come
from, and where are you going? To what country do you belong? What is
your trade, and what is your name?”
Michel answered frankly, only he could not say where he should go. He
would follow his nose, he thought, and it would lead him somewhere. The
fellow laughed and replied: “Join me, then. I am a better guide than
your nose. I am a printer, have wandered over the world, and know
something about nearly everything. That comes from education, my dear
fellow. One learns more behind the compositor’s case than behind the
ox-plough.”
“All due respect to your education,” said Michel, raising his eyebrows,
“but I’m content with the plough. It can always stand beside your case
without shame.”
“You are right, Brother,” replied the printer; “the man who will have
nothing said against his trade is a fine fellow. Have you been in the
city yet?”
“No,” said Michel.
“That’s fine,” cried the printer, “I’m at home in the city and will
show you everything. You are lucky to have fallen in with me. For in
town one must open one’s eyes and keep a sharp watch, unless one wants
to be cheated at every corner. Tell me, Brother, have you any money?
For in the city you must pay well. There it’s nothing for nothing.”
Michel unsuspiciously took his three gold coins from his pocket and
showed them to the printer. The other hastily pulled out a few silver
pieces and dirty scraps of paper, held them before Michel’s face a
moment, and said, “This is my money; as you see, I am richer than you.”
The truth was that Michel had seen nothing distinctly, for he had no
skill in counting money. “Give me your yellow boys,” the printer went
on; “we will put our cash together and make one purse. Then you’ll be
sure that none of the city thieves will rob you.”
This suited Michel. He gave his three gold coins to the printer and the
two walked on, talking merrily, until they reached the city. Going into
a tavern, they drank what was good and dear. In the afternoon, the
printer showed Michel the sights of the city, and in the evening they
had a fine meal of beer and sausage. When it grew late, the printer
said: “Now we’ll stop work. I will take a separate room. You, I
suppose, are an early riser. I like to stay a long time in bed, if I am
not obliged to get up. You would wake me, if we slept in the same room.
So, good night, Brother Michel.”
The next morning, according to his habit, Michel rose with the cocks,
went to the coffee room, and said to the tavern-keeper, who was also
there, “I suppose my companion is still in bed?”
“Why, no,” replied the host, “he is earlier than you. He started half
an hour ago, and left his regards for you.”
“What!” cried Michel, startled. “He has gone?”
“Yes, indeed, bag and baggage!” answered the tavern-keeper.
“But my money?” shrieked Michel, turning pale.
The tavern-keeper knew nothing about it.
Michel told him how he had given his gold to the printer, and the
innkeeper grew almost angry at his story. “What a simpleton you are!”
he exclaimed, “it serves you just right; you are more stupid than a
new-born calf. You have paid your apprentice money. At least let it be
a warning to you for the future. But you can’t stay here, if you have
no money. I give nothing on credit.”
Michel was obliged to pack his knapsack, and leave the inn and the city
with an empty stomach.
As he wandered sorrowfully along the highway, he saw at some distance a
pear tree, full of ripe fruit, at whose foot a man sat on the ground,
with his back resting against the trunk, smacking his lips over the
juicy pears, a whole heap of which he had piled beside him.
This man was an ill-looking fellow. He was barefooted, very ragged,
uncombed, and unwashed. But Michel’s stomach was complaining, his mouth
watered, and he involuntarily stopped in front of him.
“Will you join me?” asked the barefooted fellow, grinning.
“Gladly, for I have had nothing to eat to-day,” replied Michel, taking
several pears.
“Where are you from, and what are you doing?” asked the shabby fellow.
Michel told him frankly his unfortunate adventure with the printer, who
had basely robbed him, and complained that he did not know how he was
to get on without money.
The tramp had pricked up his ears at Michel’s story, and eyed him
sharply with a side glance. “Money lost is nothing lost,” he said, when
the other had finished. “It happens so that we two can now become
equally rich. Do you see the poplar tree yonder?” He pointed to a very
tall tree, which grew a few steps farther down the road.
“Certainly! What of it?”
“Do you see the magpie’s nest in the highest boughs?”
Michel searched for a while with his eyes, and said, “Yes, I see that,
too.”
“Well, then, the magpie has stolen a large gold chain, set with
diamonds, somewhere. I saw her just now as she carried the jewel to her
nest. It is lying there still. I wanted to climb up at once and take it
away; but I have rheumatism in all my bones from sleeping on the ground
so many nights, and I can’t manage climbing. But it will be child’s
play for you. So up with you at once, and fetch the treasure out of the
nest.”
“Child’s play—that’s saying a great deal,” muttered Michel, measuring
with his eye the height of the tree. “And besides, the chain doesn’t
belong to us. We must give it back to the owner.”
“Of course,” cried the tramp. “Do I look like a thief? But, at any
rate, we can demand the reward, and that is something.”
Michel hesitated no longer. He took off his knapsack, rested his stick
against the pear tree, and was beginning to climb the poplar.
“Hold on,” said the tramp, “that won’t do. You must take off your coat
and boots, too, or you’ll never get to the top.”
Michel knew that this was true. He pulled off his handsome new boots,
removed his nice cloth coat, folded them neatly according to his
custom, laid both beside his knapsack, and said: “Take good care of
them for me. I have nothing else in the world.”
“Depend upon it, Brother, depend upon it,” cried the barefooted tramp,
rubbing his dirty hands together with a grin.
Michel began to climb the tall poplar. He was strong and skilful, but
it was a hard piece of work. At last, however, he reached the nest, and
peered in with the greatest curiosity. There were four half-fledged
magpies, which made a great outcry, flapped their wings violently, and
pecked his hand with their yellow beaks, as he felt for the necklace,
but there was no sign of a gold chain. He found a safe seat in a forked
branch, and called down: “Holloa—you must have dreamed about a gold
chain; there’s nothing here but downy feathers—no necklace.”
As he received no answer, he parted the branches and looked down. To
his horror, he saw that the tramp had disappeared, and with him his
knapsack, staff, boots, and coat. Gazing into the distance, he
discovered him with all the stolen clothes on running along the road
far away. “Stop thief!” shouted Michel at the top of his lungs,
slipping and jumping down the tree so fast that he ran the risk of
breaking his neck. But no living soul was in sight, no one heard his
calls for help, no one stopped the flying thief, and it was useless to
follow him, for he had a long start, and a bend in the road soon hid
him from Michel’s sight.
There stood poor Michel, now barefoot and in his shirt sleeves, with
nothing left, not even the cane and hymn-book which his brother-in-law
had given him, or the underclothes which his mother had packed in the
knapsack. He did not know what to do. Should he go on, or simply turn
back and again enter the service of his master, the farmer? But he was
too much ashamed to go home in such a plight, after just starting out
into the world with such proud hopes, so he determined to try to get
work as he was.
He walked sadly on until he came to a broad and tolerably swift stream,
across which was a ford. When he went down the bank and was preparing
to roll up his trousers and step into the water, he suddenly heard loud
weeping, as if from a child. He looked around in surprise, but saw
nothing. Yet the crying did not stop, and Michel had too kind a heart
not to wish to find the cause of the trouble. He followed the sounds,
which seemed to come from a thick clump of willows, and after some
searching, discovered a queer little man, with a gray beard, who was
trying to hide from him in the moss. Taking up the tiny creature
carefully, that he might not hurt him, he said kindly: “Don’t be
afraid, I will do you no harm. What is the matter, that you are
grieving so? Tell me whether I can help you?”
The little man hastily took from a case which hung on his back a pair
of horn spectacles, with round blue glasses, as big as he was himself,
held them before his eyes, for he could not put them on because his
nose was far too small, and gazed intently at Michel. The examination
seemed to satisfy him. He folded up the spectacles, put them carefully
back in the case again, and said in a weak little voice: “I must cross
the river, and I can’t, for it is too deep.”
Michel’s curiosity was roused, and he asked, “What have you to seek on
the other side?”
“It would be too long a story to tell you,” replied the little man. “In
a few words, I can give only this: I belong to a race of dwarfs, which,
until now, lived in this neighborhood. But men have grown too wicked,
and we cannot stay here any longer. My people have gone and taken their
boats with them. I was delayed because I wanted to help a poor woman,
who has been kind to me, in gathering some healing herbs. They have
left me behind all alone, and now I don’t know what will become of me.”
“It seems to me,” said Michel, “that your dwarf brothers are at least
as wicked as men, since they did not trouble themselves about you.”
“It is my own fault,” wailed the dwarf; “a whole nation cannot wait for
one person.”
“Shall I carry you across the water?” asked Michel.
“Ah, if you only would do it! Then I should be saved, for on the other
shore I could overtake my people.”
“Come then, little fellow,” said Michel, rolled up his trousers above
his knees, took the dwarf in his hand, and waded carefully through the
roaring river. When he had reached the opposite bank, he asked the
little man: “Shall I carry you farther? You are not heavy.”
“No,” replied the dwarf, hastily, “just put me on the ground, I can
find my way alone now.”
Michel obeyed the dwarf’s wish. The little fellow took from his back
the case with the spectacles, laid it in Michel’s hand, and said: “I
want to show you my gratitude. We dwarfs have no money. But I will give
you these spectacles. When you put them on, you can read the thoughts
of men in their heads. You already know how useful that is.”
Michel hesitated to accept the gift. “You will need them yourself,” he
said.
“Take them, take them,” replied the dwarf, “we are going to a distant
country, where we shall live among ourselves. We dwarfs say what we
think, and think what we say. There we shall no longer need the
spectacles for reading thoughts. I thank you. Farewell.”
Before Michel knew it, the dwarf had vanished, and Michel, who would
gladly have talked with him a little longer, searched for him in vain.
So he put the blue spectacles into his pocket, and continued his way in
a very sorrowful mood. After walking some time, he came to a field of
turnips separated from the road by a fence. Before this fence several
men, who looked like field laborers, were standing, and behind it a
stout man, with the perspiration streaming down his face, was digging
up the turnips. The workmen appeared to be laughing at the fat fellow,
and the fat fellow was toiling as if he wanted to vent his rage on the
earth and the turnips. Michel, curious to see what was going on,
stopped, and the fat man called: “Holloa! do you want to earn a penny
instead of staring at these gaping idlers? Then come. There is work
enough here for every man.”
Michel noticed that the laborers looked at him angrily, and he thought,
“something is wrong here.” It occurred to him that this was a good
chance to try the dwarf’s spectacles, and he put them on his nose. The
glasses were scarcely before his eyes when the heads of the people
appeared to become as transparent as crystal, and he could read their
thoughts as plainly as in a book of clear, large type.
In the fat man’s head he read: “You seem to be a strong fellow, and
very poor; come, work for me, I will pay you as little as possible, and
this gang, which refuses to work for my wages, and leaves me in the
lurch in the middle of the harvest, will pull long faces. The rascals
will probably break your bones because you are spoiling their game, but
that’s your affair, not mine.”
Michel was troubled and turned to the laborers, who were closing round
him threateningly. There he read: “What! Does a tramp like you mean to
work cheaper here, and serve the rich skinflint for a song? We had
brought him to a point where he would be obliged to add a little, and
now you cross our plans, and help the rich extortioner against us.
May—”
Michel knew enough. “If there is plenty of work here for everybody,” he
said to the fat man, “then these people have more right to it than I.”
With these words he turned to go.
“Idler!” shouted the fat man, furiously.
“What!” Michel answered, “you want to rob me of my day’s work, and yet
call me an idler? For shame, you penny-squeezer!”
The laborers burst into a loud laugh, and one held out his hand to him:
“Clasp hands, you are a good fellow. Come and drink a glass of beer
with us.”
“Willingly,” replied Michel, and they all left the fat man standing in
his turnip field, and went on together until they came to an inn by the
roadside, which they entered. On the way they told him that they were
engaged in a struggle about wages with the fat man, who was the richest
landowner in the neighborhood, and Michel answered that he needed the
day’s wages greatly, but he would not take the bread out of their
mouths. They now made him tell them how it happened that he was
wandering about the world barefoot, and in his shirt sleeves, and
pitied him for having been twice outwitted by rascals. So they offered
to get him a coat and boots on credit, and obtain work in the
neighborhood. Michel was greatly delighted over it, the more so, as he
saw through his blue spectacles that their thoughts were sincere, and
they meant honestly by him.
In the tavern the laborers ordered food and drink to be set before
Michel, and clothed him out of the landlord’s chests and trunks, so
that he no longer looked like a tramp. When he was fitted out and had
eaten, he glanced around the room. In one corner he saw at a table
three fellows, who sat there silently, pledging each other from time to
time in large glasses of brandy. One had squint eyes, the second a nose
twisted completely on one side, the third was disfigured by a hare-lip.
They looked so evil, that Michel was horrified, and quickly seized the
dwarf’s spectacles. He was curious to learn what kind of thoughts
lurked behind such ugly faces. What he read in their heads made him
shudder. They were all three thinking of nothing except that that night
they would break into an old castle near the inn, murder the old
countess, her young daughter, and two maid-servants, who were living
there alone, while the old count was in attendance at court, and steal
all their gold and silver. Behind these thoughts, which he saw with
terrible distinctness, he read others a little less clearly. The
squint-eyed man was imagining how he would stab the women with his
dagger, while they knelt before him begging for mercy. The
crooked-nosed man fancied he had a pile of gold, into which he was
plunging his blood-stained hands. The hare-lipped man meant to attack
his two comrades in their sleep, after the crime had been committed,
kill them, and rob them of their share of the booty.
Michel asked himself in horror what he could do to prevent the crime
and deliver the wicked fellows to punishment. Tell the laborers what he
read in the heads of the three monsters? They would not believe him and
perhaps think he was crazy. Go to the police and denounce the
scoundrels? But how could he prove what they meant to do? If they
denied it, he would stand there like a simpleton, and the police would
perhaps take him for a rascal who wanted to fool them. After thinking
over the matter for a long time, it seemed to him that he could do
nothing except deal with the three rogues all alone.
He agreed to meet the laborers the next morning, at the same inn, to go
with them to a place to work, took leave of them, and hurried off in
the direction that he supposed the castle stood. After questioning all
the shepherds and market women he met on the way, he at last reached a
thick forest, and there, in a clearing, was the old castle with its
solid walls and small windows.
He knocked at the heavy oak door until it slowly opened a little, and
in the crack appeared an aged maid-servant, who asked what he wanted.
He begged to see the countess, for whom he had an important message.
He was kept waiting a long while outside the door, but at last the maid
came back and sulkily invited him to follow her. Michel went behind her
to a little tower room, where the old countess received him. Beside her
sat her daughter, a young girl, as beautiful as an angel, whose blue
eyes were as friendly as the bright day. Michel felt his heart grow as
warm as if sunbeams had entered it, and he could not make up his mind
to frighten this lovely creature by his story. He told the countess
that he must speak to her alone, and, after a little hesitation, she
sent her daughter and the servant out and ordered Michel to deliver his
message at once.
“Your ladyship,” he said, “three murderers intend to attack your castle
to-night, kill you all, and steal your treasures.” Seeing her turn
pale, he added quickly: “Have no fear, I will remain to defend you and,
so long as I have a drop of blood in my body, no one shall harm a hair
of your heads.”
“One against three—” sighed the countess, anxiously.
“I would fight with five, if I only had weapons.”
“There is no lack of arms here,” said the countess. “But would it not
be wiser for us to fly to the city at once?”
“The road is long, it is almost dark, and the forest is not safe,”
replied Michel. “Besides, your flight would not prevent the robbery of
the castle.”
The countess saw this. She was naturally a brave woman, and Michel’s
presence somewhat soothed her. She gave him from her husband’s weapons
a gun, two pistols, and a dagger, ordered a dainty supper to be served
for him, sent her daughter and the two maids to bed early, and then
kept watch with him in the castle hall. No persuasion from Michel could
induce her to go into her tower and protect herself behind locks and
bolts. “If I am warned, I can defend myself,” she said firmly, and so
it was settled. Just before midnight the countess and Michel, who were
listening behind the oak door, heard soft, stealing steps approaching
and whispering voices consulting about the best way of breaking into
the castle. Various plans were refused, and at last they agreed that
the most nimble robber should climb, by projecting stones, to a window
on the second story, fasten a rope wound about his waist to the
cross-bars, and drag the others up.
“Now we have the rascals,” Michel whispered into the countess’s ear,
and ran before her up the stairs into the room whose window the
scoundrel meant to enter. With his gun ready to fire, he waited in the
dark until a head appeared above the sill, and then pressed the
trigger. A flash, a report, a shriek, a fall, followed one another in
an instant. The two robbers who had remained below saw, with terror,
their comrade drop at their feet, and turned to fly. Michel and the
countess fired at the same time, and saw both fall.
“Hurrah!” shouted Michel, joyously, and, without listening to the
countess’s warning, he ran down the stairs, seized a lantern, unbolted
the door, and rushed out. At the foot of the castle wall he saw the man
with a crooked nose lying with a broken skull, and the one with a
hare-lip had a bleeding wound in his breast. The squint-eyed man was
not dead. He had received a bullet in the leg, and had fallen, but rose
again, and was limping off. Michel pursued him like the wind. But the
vagabond suddenly turned and struck fiercely at him with a knife.
Michel fired a pistol which stretched the murderer in the grass; then
he, too, with the blade in his breast, fell to the earth.
Meanwhile the countess’s daughter and the two maids, roused from their
sleep by the firing, came hurrying down. The countess called to them
that the danger was over, and all four carried the wounded Michel into
the castle, without heeding the three ruffians, who lay dead or
senseless.
Michel, too, became unconscious after the four women had laid him on a
couch. When he came to himself again, many hours had passed since the
adventure of the night. A maid had brought a doctor from the city at
dawn, and now the count, who had been informed by a messenger of what
had happened, also arrived. Michel heard the doctor tell the count that
he would recover, and the countess speak with the highest praise of his
courage, to which they all owed their lives. He wanted to raise himself
and say that he did not deserve so much honor, but they all ordered him
in the same breath to say nothing and keep quiet.
It was many days before Michel’s wound healed. The countess and her
daughter nursed him tenderly, and he was always happy whenever he saw
the lovely girl beside his bed. His eyes rested constantly upon her,
and when they met hers, a faint flush mounted into her cheeks. He
longed to know what was passing through her little head, and asked for
his blue spectacles. The countess and her daughter wondered at this
desire, and wished to know what use he could have for blue spectacles
in a darkened sick room. But he only repeated the request, until they
yielded and brought the spectacles. He hastily seized them, put them on
with trembling hands, and gazed with all his soul at the white brow of
the young countess. He read: “Why does he stare at me so strangely? Has
the poor young fellow gone crazy?” And beyond were many half-distinct
thoughts, which were something like, “That would be a great pity, for
he is such a dear, brave fellow, and I am so fond of him that I wish he
would stay here with me till the end of my life.”
When he had read this, tears filled his eyes. He took off the glasses,
which were dimmed, and did not utter a word. But when the countess left
him alone with her daughter, he suddenly seized the lovely girl’s hand
and said in a trembling voice: “Beautiful Countess, I am only a poor
peasant boy, but I love you very, very dearly, and I know that you love
me, too, so I dare to ask you, Will you be my wife?”
“Yes, I will,” she answered softly, sinking into his arms. So the
countess found the young couple when she entered. At first she was very
angry, and would not consent to have her only daughter marry a peasant
lad. But the young lady said: “I will have him or no one. And if you
will not let me marry him, it will break my heart.” Then, whether
willing or not, the mother was obliged to consent, and even beg the
count to give his blessing to the union. Michel was now almost well, so
he was again allowed to talk, and the count inquired how he had
discovered the plans of the three murderers, two of whom were dead and
buried, and the third lay wounded in prison. Michel did not wish to
have any secrets from his future father-in-law. He told him about his
meeting with the dwarf, who had given him the blue spectacles, and what
power these spectacles possessed. The count wanted to try their
wonderful magic himself, and was convinced that Michel had not
attempted to deceive him.
“You must show the dwarf’s spectacles to the king,” said the count and,
when Michel was allowed to rise, he took him to court with him and
presented him to the king, who heard his story with amazement. He, too,
put on the spectacles, and looked a long while at the courtiers who
surrounded his throne.
“Your most gracious Majesty, I will gladly give you the dwarf’s
spectacles, if you will accept them from me.”
The king slowly shook his head, took them off, and returned them to
Michel. “No,” he said, “I do not want them. I would rather not be
compelled to read the thoughts of men. It does not give happiness. I
will even try to forget what I have read. I will appoint you the chief
judge of my kingdom. Then you can apply the dwarf’s spectacles to a
useful purpose.”
Michel was now a person of importance, whom even a count would
willingly accept for a son-in-law. He brought his mother from the
carpenter’s home in the village, married the beautiful young countess,
moved into a splendid palace in the capital, and performed his duties
as chief justice, with the blue spectacles on his nose.
Nobody among the people knew their power, but soon all trembled before
it. For through them Michel read the truth in the head of the most
hardened criminal and most skilful sharper; no lie could stand before
him, and no injustice remained concealed. No innocent person was
condemned, and no guilty one escaped punishment; henceforward law and
justice reigned throughout the kingdom. Michel was feared by the bad,
honored by the good, and praised by all as the wisest man in the whole
country, and so it remained to the end of his long life.