a matter of life and death; he had already the start, his followers
panted breathlessly, and he seemed to be on the point of escape. But a
heavy hand pressed invisibly towards him, the watch of his destiny had
run down, the inexorable Nemesis detained her debtor. The street to
which he trusted had no outlet, and he was forced to turn back towards
his persecutors.
The noise of this event had in the meanwhile set the whole town in an
uproar; throng pressed on throng, all the streets were lined, and a
host of enemies were marching towards him. He showed a pistol, the mob
receded, and he would have made a way through the crowd by force. “A
shot from this,” said he, “for the mad fool who detains me.” A general
pause was dictated by fear, when at last, a bold journeyman blacksmith
darted on his arm from behind, caught the finger with which the insane
man was about to fire, and forced it out of joint. The pistol fell,
the disarmed man was pulled from his horse, and dragged to the office
in triumph.
“Who are you?” asked the judge in a somewhat brutal tone.
“A man who is resolved to answer no question until it is put more
courteously.”
“Who are you?”[1]
“That which I represented myself to be. I have travelled all through
Germany, and never found impudence at home, anywhere but here.”
“Your speedy flight renders you very suspicious. Why did you fly?”
“Because I was tired of being the laughing-stock of your rabble.”
“You threatened to fire.”
“My pistol was not loaded.”
The weapon was examined, and, true enough, it contained no bullet.
“Why did you secretly carry arms?”
“Because I have with me articles of value, and because I have been
warned against a certain ‘Host of the Sun,’ who is said to be roving
about these parts.”
“Your replies argue much for your audacity, but little for the goodness
of your cause. I will give you till to-morrow to discover the truth to
me.”
“I shall abide by what I have already said.”
“Let him be conducted to the tower.”
“To the tower? I hope, Herr Superior, that there is still justice in
this country. I shall require satisfaction.”
“I will give it you as soon as you are acquitted.”
The next morning the superior reflected that the stranger might be
innocent after all; a dictatorial address could effect nothing with his
obstinacy, and it might, perhaps, be better to treat him with respect
and moderation. He collected the jury of the place, and had the
prisoner brought forward.
“Forgive me for the first outbreak, sir, if I accosted you somewhat
hardly yesterday.”
“Very readily, if you treat me thus.”
“Our laws are severe, and your affair made a noise. I cannot release
you without committing a breach of duty. Appearance is against you,
and I wish you would say something, by which it might be refuted.”
“What, if I know nothing?”
“Then I must lay the case before the government, and you will, in the
meanwhile, remain closely confined.”
“And then?”
“Then you run the risk of being flogged over the border as a vagrant,
or, if mercy is shown, of being placed among the recruits.”
He was silent for some minutes, and appeared to be undergoing a severe
contest, then he suddenly turned to the judge.
“Can I be alone with you for a quarter of an hour?”
The jury cast ambiguous glances at one another, but withdrew at a
commanding sign from their head.
“Now, what do you want?”
“Your demeanour of yesterday, Herr Superior, would never have brought
me to a confession, for I set force at defiance. The moderation with
which you have treated me to-day has given me confidence and respect
for you. I think that you are an honourable man.”
“What have you to say to me?”
“I see that you are an honourable man; I have long wished for a man
like you. Give me, I pray, your right hand.”
“To what end?”
“That head is gray and reverend. You have been long in the world--have
felt many sorrows--is it not so? And have become more humane.”
“Sir, to what does this tend?”
“You are now distant by only one step from eternity--soon, soon will
you need mercy from God. You will not deny it to man. Do you suspect
nothing? With whom do you suppose you are speaking?”
“What do you mean? You terrify me.”
“If you do not already suspect--write to your prince how you found me,
and that I myself of my free choice was my own betrayer--that God will
be merciful unto him as he now shows mercy unto me. Entreat for me,
old man, and then let a tear fall on your report: I am--the ‘Host of
the Sun.’”
J. O.
[1] These questions appear the same in English, but the first in German
is “Wer seyd Ihr,” and the second “Wer sind Sie.” According to German
usage the latter alone is courteous.
THE COLD HEART.
BY WILHELM HAUFF.
Those who travel through Swabia should always remember to cast a
passing glance into the Schwarzwald,[1] not so much for the sake of the
trees (though pines are not found everywhere in such prodigious
numbers, nor of such a surpassing height), as for the sake of the
people, who show a marked difference from all others in the
neighbourhood around. They are taller than ordinary men,
broad-shouldered, have strong limbs, and it seems as if the bracing air
which blows through the pines in the morning, has allowed them, from
their youth upwards, to breathe more freely, and has given them a
clearer eye and a firmer, though ruder, mind than the inhabitants of
the valleys and plains. The strong contrast they form to the people
living without the limits of the “Wald,” consists, not merely in their
bearing and stature, but also in their manners and costume. Those of
the Schwarzwald of the Baden territory dress most handsomely; the men
allow their beards to grow about the chin just as nature gives it; and
their black jackets, wide trousers, which are plaited in small folds,
red stockings, and painted hats surrounded by a broad brim, give them a
strange, but somewhat grave and noble appearance. Their usual
occupations are the manufacturing of glass, and the so-called Dutch
clocks, which they carry about for sale over half the globe.
Another part of the same race lives on the other side of the
Schwarzwald; but their occupations have made them contract manners and
customs quite different from those of the glass manufacturers. Their
_Wald_ supplies their trade; felling and fashioning their pines, they
float them through the _Nagold_ into the _Neckar_, from thence down the
Rhine as far as Holland; and near the sea the _Schwarzwälder_ and their
long rafts are well known. Stopping at every town which is situated
along the river, they wait proudly for purchasers of their beams and
planks; but the strongest and longest beams they sell at a high price
to Mynheers, who build ships of them. Their trade has accustomed them
to a rude and roving life, their pleasure consisting in drifting down
the stream on their timber, their sorrow in wandering back again along
the shore. Hence the difference in their costume from that of the
glass manufacturers. They wear jackets of a dark linen cloth, braces a
hand’s breadth wide, displayed over the chest, and trousers of black
leather, from the pocket of which a brass rule sticks out as a badge of
honour; but their pride and joy are their boots, which are probably the
largest that are worn in any part of the world, for they may be drawn
two spans above the knee, and the raftsmen may walk about in water at
three feet depth without getting their feet wet.
It is but a short time ago that the belief in hobgoblins of the wood
prevailed among the inhabitants, this foolish superstition having been
eradicated only in modern times. But the singularity about these
hobgoblins who are said to haunt the Schwarzwald, is, that they also
wear the different costumes of the people. Thus it is affirmed of the
_Glass-mannikin_, a kind little sprite three feet and a half high, that
he never shows himself except in a painted little hat with a broad
brim, a doublet, white trousers, and red stockings; while Dutch Michel,
who haunts the other side of the forest, is said to be a gigantic,
broad-shouldered fellow wearing the dress of a raftsman; and many who
have seen him say they would not like to pay for the calves whose hides
it would require to make one pair of his boots, affirming that, without
exaggeration, a man of the middle height may stand in one of them with
his head only just peeping out.
The following strange adventure with these spirits is said to have once
befallen a young Schwarzwälder:--There lived a widow in the
Schwarzwald, whose name was Frau Barbara Munk; her husband had been a
charcoal-burner, and after his death she had by degrees prevailed upon
her boy, who was now sixteen years old, to follow his father’s trade.
Young Peter Munk, a sly fellow, submitted to sit the whole week near
the smoking stack of wood, because he had seen his father do the same;
or, black and sooty and an abomination to the people as he was, to
drive to the nearest town and sell his charcoal. Now, a
charcoal-burner has much leisure for reflection, about himself and
others; and when Peter Munk was sitting by his stack, the dark trees
around him, as well as the deep stillness of the forest, disposed his
heart to tears, and to an unknown secret longing. Something made him
sad, and vexed him, without his knowing exactly what it was. At
length, however, he found out the cause of his vexation,--it was his
condition. “A black, solitary charcoal-burner,” he said to himself;
“it is a wretched life. How much more are the glass-manufacturers, and
the clockmakers regarded; and even the musicians, on a Sunday evening!
And when Peter Munk appears washed, clean, and dressed out in his
father’s best jacket with the silver buttons and bran new red
stockings--if then, any one walking behind him, thinks to himself, ‘I
wonder who that smart fellow is?’ admiring, all the time, my stockings
and stately gait;--if then, I say, he passes me and looks round, will
he not say, ‘Why, it is only Peter Munk, the charcoal-burner.”
The raftsmen also on the other side of the wood were an object of envy
to him. When these giants of the forest came over in their splendid
clothes, wearing about their bodies half a hundred weight of silver,
either in buckles, buttons or chains, standing with sprawling legs and
consequential look to see the dancing, swearing in Dutch, and smoking
Cologne clay pipes a yard long, like the most noble Mynheers, then he
pictured to himself such a raftsman as the most perfect model of human
happiness. But when these fortunate men put their hands into their
pocket, pulled out handsful of thalers and staked a Sechsbatzner piece
upon the cast of a die, throwing their five or ten florins to and fro,
he was almost mad and sneaked sorrowfully home to his hut. Indeed he
had seen some of these gentlemen of the timber trade, on many a
holy-day evening, lose more than his poor old father had gained in the
whole year. There were three of these men, in particular, of whom he
knew not which to admire most. The one was a tall stout man with ruddy
face, who passed for the richest man in the neighbourhood; he was
usually called fat “Hesekiel.” Twice every year he went with timber to
Amsterdam, and had the good luck to sell it so much dearer than the
rest that he could return home in a splendid carriage, while they had
to walk. The second was the tallest and leanest man in the whole
_Wald_, and was usually called “the tall Schlurker;” it was his
extraordinary boldness that excited Munk’s envy, for he contradicted
people of the first importance, took up more room than four stout men,
no matter how crowded the inn might be, setting either both his elbows
upon the table, or drawing one of his long legs on the bench; yet,
notwithstanding all this, none dared to oppose him, since he had a
prodigious quantity of money. The third was a handsome young fellow,
who being the best dancer far around, was hence called “the king of the
ball-room.” Originally poor he had been servant to one of the timber
merchants, when all at once he became immensely rich; for which some
accounted by saying he had found a pot full of money under an old pine
tree, while others asserted that he had fished up in the Rhine, near
Bingen, a packet of gold coins with the spear which these raftsmen
sometimes throw at the fish as they go along in the river, that packet
being part of the great “Niebelungenhort,” which is sunk there. But
however this might be, the fact of his suddenly becoming rich caused
him to be looked upon as a prince by young and old.
Often did poor Peter Munk the coal burner think of these three men,
when sitting alone in the pine forest. All three indeed had one great
fault, which made them hated by every body: this was their insatiable
avarice, their heartlessness towards their debtors and towards the
poor, for the Schwarzwälder are naturally a kind-hearted people.
However, we all know how it is in these matters; though they were hated
for their avarice, yet they commanded respect on account of their
money, for who but they could throw away thalers, as if they could
shake them from the pines?
“This will do no longer,” said Peter one day to himself, when he felt
very melancholy, it being the morrow after a holiday when every body
had been at the inn; “if I don’t soon thrive I shall make away with
myself; Oh that I were as much looked up to and as rich as the stout
Hesekiel, or as bold and powerful as the tall Schlurker, or as renowned
as the king of the ball-room, and could like him throw thalers instead
of kreutzers to the musicians! I wonder where the fellow gets his
money!” Reflecting upon all the different means by which money may be
got, he could please himself with none, till at length he thought of
the tales of those people who, in times of old, had become rich through
the Dutchman Michel, or the glass-mannikin. During his father’s
lifetime other poor people often made their calls, and then their
conversation was generally about rich persons, and the means by which
they had come by their riches; in these discourses the glass-mannikin
frequently played a conspicuous part. Now, if Peter strained his
memory a little he could almost recall the short verse which one must
repeat near the Tannenbühl in the heart of the forest, to make the
sprite appear. It began as follows:
“Keeper of wealth in the forest of pine,
Hundreds of years are surely thine:
Thine is the tall pine’s dwelling place--”
But he might tax his memory as much as he pleased, he could remember no
more of it. He often thought of asking some aged person what the whole
verse was. However, a certain fear of betraying his thoughts kept him
back, and moreover he concluded that the legend of the glass-mannikin
could not be very generally known, and that but few were acquainted
with the incantation, since there were not many rich persons in the
Wald;--if it were generally known, why had not his father, and other
poor people, tried their luck? At length, however, he one day got his
mother to talk about the mannikin, and she told him what he knew
already, as she herself remembered only the first line of the verse,
but she added, that the sprite would show himself only to those who had
been born on a Sunday, between eleven and two o’clock. He was, she
said, quite fit for evoking him, as he was born at twelve o’clock at
noon; if he but knew the verse.
When Peter Munk heard this he was almost beside himself with joy and
desire to try the adventure. It appeared to him enough to know part of
the verse, and to be born on a Sunday, for the glass-mannikin to show
himself. Consequently when he one day had sold his coals, he did not
light a new stack, but put on his father’s holiday jacket, his new red
stockings, and best hat, took his blackthorn stick, five feet long into
his hand, and bade farewell to his mother, saying, “I must go to the
magistrate in the town, for we shall soon have to draw lots who is to
be soldier, and therefore I wish to impress once more upon him that you
are a widow, and I am your only son.” His mother praised his
resolution; but he started for the Tannenbühl. This lies on the
highest point of the Schwarzwald, and not a village or even a hut was
found, at that time, for two leagues around, for the superstitious
people believed it was haunted; they were even very unwilling to fell
timber in that part, though the pines were tall and excellent, for
often the axes of the wood-cutters had flown off the handle into their
feet, or the trees falling suddenly, had knocked the men down, and
either injured or even killed them; moreover, they could have used the
finest trees from there only for fuel, since the raftsmen never would
take a trunk from the Tannenbühl as part of a raft, there being a
tradition that both men and timber would come to harm, if they had a
tree from that spot on the water. Hence the trees there grew so dense
and high that is was almost night at noon. When Peter Munk approached
the place, he felt quite awe-stricken, hearing neither voice nor
footstep except his own; no axe resounded, and even the birds seemed to
shun the darkness amidst the pines.
Peter Munk had now reached the highest point of the Tannenbühl, and
stood before a pine of enormous girth, for which a Dutch ship-builder
would have given many hundred florins on the spot. “Here,” said he,
“the treasure-keeper (Schatzhauser) no doubt lives,” and pulling off
his large hat, he made a low bow before the tree, cleared his throat,
and said, with a trembling voice, “I wish you a good evening, Mr.
Glass-mannikin.” But receiving no answer, and all around remaining
silent as before, he thought it would probably be better to say the
verse, and therefore murmured it forth. On repeating the words, he
saw, to his great astonishment, a singular and very small figure peep
forth from behind the tree. It seemed to him as if he had beheld the
glass-mannikin, just as he was described, the little black jacket, red
stockings, hat, all even to the pale, but fine shrewd countenance of
which the people so much talked, he thought he had seen. But alas, as
quickly as it had peeped forth, as quickly it had disappeared again.
“Mr. Glass-mannikin,” cried Peter Munk, after a short hesitation, “pray
don’t make a fool of me; if you fancy that I have not seen you, you are
vastly mistaken, I saw you very well peeping forth from behind the
tree.” Still no answer, only at times he fancied he heard a low,
hoarse tittering behind the tree. At length his impatience conquered
this fear, which had still restrained him, and he cried, “Wait, you
little rascal, I will have you yet.” At the same time he jumped behind
the tree, but there was no Schatzhauser, and only a pretty little
squirrel was running up the tree.
Peter Munk shook his head; he saw he had succeeded to a certain degree
in the incantation, and that he perhaps only wanted one more rhyme to
the verse to evoke the glass-mannikin; he tried over and over again,
but could not think of any thing. The squirrel showed itself on the
lowest branches of the tree, and seemed to encourage or perhaps to mock
him. It trimmed itself, it rolled its pretty tail, and looked at him
with its cunning eyes. At length he was almost afraid of being alone
with this animal; for sometimes it seemed to have a man’s head, and to
wear a three cornered hat, sometimes to be quite like another squirrel,
with the exception only of having red stockings and black shoes on its
hind feet. In short it was a merry little creature, but still Peter
felt an awe, fancying that all was not right.
Peter now went away with more rapid strides than he had come. The
darkness of the forest seemed to become blacker and blacker; the trees
stood closer to each other, and he began to be so terrified that he ran
off in a trot, and only became more tranquil when he heard dogs bark at
a distance, and soon after descried the smoke of a hut through the
trees. But on coming nearer and seeing the dress of the people, he
found that having taken the contrary direction he had got to the
raftsmen instead of the glass-makers. The people living in the hut
were wood-cutters, consisting of an aged man with his son who was the
owner, and some grown up grand-children. They received Peter Munk, who
begged a night’s quarter, hospitably enough without asking his name or
residence, they gave him cider to drink, and in the evening a large
black cock, the best meal in the Schwarzwald, was served up for supper.
After this meal the housewife and her daughters took their distaffs and
sat round a large pine torch, which the boys fed with the finest rosin;
the host with his guest sat smoking and looking at the women; while the
boys were busy carving wooden spoons and forks. The storm was howling
and raging through the pines in the forest without, and now and then
very heavy blasts were heard, and it was as if whole trees were
breaking off and crashing down. The fearless youths were about to run
out to witness this terrific and beautiful spectacle, but their
grandfather kept them back with a stern look and these words: “I would
not advise any of you,” cried he, “to go now outside the door; by
heavens he never would return, for Michel the Dutchman is building this
night a new raft in the forest.”
The younger of them looked at him with astonishment, having probably
heard before of Michel, but they now begged their grandpapa to tell
them some interesting story of him. Peter Munk who had heard but
confused stories of Michel the Dutchman on the other side of the
forest, joined in this request, asking the old man who and where he
was. “He is the lord of the forest,” was the answer, “and from your
not having heard this at your age, it follows that you must be a native
of those parts just beyond the Tannenbühl or perhaps still more
distant. But I will tell you all I know, and how the story goes about
him. A hundred years ago or thereabouts, there were far and wide no
people more upright in their dealings than the Schwarzwälder, at least
so my grandfather used to tell me. Now, since there is so much money
in the country, the people are dishonest and bad. The young fellows
dance and riot on Sundays, and swear to such a degree that it is
horrible to hear them; whereas formerly it was quite different, and I
have often said and now say, though he should look in through the
window, that the Dutchman Michel is the cause of all this depravity. A
hundred years ago then there lived a very rich timber merchant who had
many servants; he carried his trade far down the Rhine and was very
prosperous, being a pious man. One evening a person such as he had
never seen came to his door; his dress was like that of the young
fellows of the Schwarzwald, but he was full a head taller than any of
them, and no one had ever thought there could be such a giant. He
asked for work, and the timber-merchant, seeing he was strong, and able
to carry great weights, agreed with him about the wages and took him
into his service. He found Michel to be a labourer such as he had
never yet had; for in felling trees he was equal to three ordinary men,
and when six men were pulling at one end of a trunk he would carry the
other end alone. After having been employed in felling timber for six
months, he came one day before his master, saying, ‘I have now been
cutting wood long enough here, and should like to see what becomes of
my trunks; what say you to letting me go with the rafts for once?’ To
which his master replied, ‘I have no objection, Michel, to your seeing
a little of the world; to be sure I want strong men like yourself to
fell the timber, and on the river all depends upon skill; but,
nevertheless, be it for this time as you wish.’