magpie, pleasantly wagging her tail. ‘His factory was not distant from
here, being by the river-side without the wood, and about a hundred
workmen spun under him. The yarn they used to wash in the stream.
This was the dwelling-place of the Nixy, who was very much enraged,
that they troubled his clear waters with their filthy washing,
especially as all his children, the trout and the smelts, died from the
carious matter: he tangled the yarn, the waves were forced to cast it
over the shore, he drove it downwards into the whirlpool to warn the
master-spinner, but all was in vain. At last, on Midsummer-day, when
the river-spirits have power to frighten and to injure, he sprinkled
some magic water in the faces of the whole troop of spinners and their
chief, as they were carrying on their washing as boldly and
unscrupulously as ever, and just as bloodthirsty men may be changed
into wear-wolves, and wear-cats, so did they become wear-spiders. They
all ran from the river to the wood, and were hanging everywhere from
the trees and bushes by their web. The workmen have become diminutive
spiders, and catch flies and gnats, but their master has retained
nearly his former size, and is called the spider-king. He lies in
watch for pretty girls, spins his web round them, lulls their senses
with his poisonous exhalations, and then sucks the blood from their
hearts. At last he overcame this princess, who had strayed from her
retinue in the wood. See, there, there, he is stirring among the
bushes.”
“And indeed it seemed to the student as if he saw glimmering through
the branches, right opposite to him, the body of a gigantic spider; two
hairy feet, as thick as human arms, were working their way through the
foliage. He felt dreadfully alarmed for the lovely sleeper, and wished
to oppose the monster. ‘Vain is your attempt!’ cried the magpie,
flapping her wings; ‘all enchanted men have fearful power, and this
monster could strangle you with his web; however, strew some fern-seed
on the breast of the fair one; that will make her invisible to the
spider-king, and so long as any particle of it remains, its virtue will
last.’ In the greatest haste the student rubbed the brown dust from
the under surface of a fern-leaf, and did as the bird had desired.
While during this act, he bent over the sleeper, his cheek felt her
breath. Enraptured, he cried, ‘Are there no means of freeing this
beloved form?’ ‘Oh,’ screamed the bird, as she madly flew round the
student with a sort of zig-zag motion, ‘if you ask me about means,
there are many indeed. Our wise old man in the cleft has the yew-tree
in keeping, and if you can get a branch of that, and with it touch the
fair one thrice upon the forehead, all her bonds will be dissolved:
‘Before the yew tree,
All magic must flee.’
She will then sink in your arms, and belong to you, as her deliverer.’
“At this moment it seemed as though the sleeper heard the bird’s
discourse. Her beautiful face was suffused with a delicate redness,
and her features took the expression of an ineffable desire. ‘Lead me
to the wise old man!’ cried the student, half beside himself.
“The bird hopped into the bushes, and the student hurried after her.
The magpie fluttered up a narrow rocky path which soon led over a marsh
and wildly scattered blocks of stones, with great peril to the
traveller. The student was forced to clamber from block to block that
he might not sink into the marsh. His knees trembled, his heart
heaved, his temples were bathed in a cold sweat. As he hastened along
he plucked off flowers and leaves and sprinkled them on the stones that
he might again find his way. At last he stood on an eminence of
considerable height upon a spacious rocky portal, from the dark hollow
of which an icy-cold breeze blew towards him. Here nature seemed to be
in her primitive state of fermention, so fearfully and in such wild
disorder did the masses of stone stand over, by, and before the cavern.
“‘Here dwells our wise man!’ cried the magpie, while she bristled up
her feathers from her head to her tail, which gave her a most
unpleasant and repulsive appearance, ‘I will announce you, and ask how
he feels disposed as to your wish.’ With these words, she slipped into
the hollow, and almost immediately jumped back again, crying, ‘The old
man is peevish and obstinate, and he will not give you the bough of
yew, unless you stop up all the chinks in the cavern, for he says the
draught annoys him. Before you can do this, many years may have
passed.’
“The student plucked up as much of the moss and herbage as he could,
and, not without a feeling of dread, entered the cavern. Within
strangely-shaped stalactites were staring at him from the walls, and he
did not know where to turn his eyes to avoid these hideous forms. He
wished to penetrate deeper by the rocky path, but from the further
corner a voice snorted forth to him: ‘Back! disturb me not in my
researches, pursue thy occupation there in the front!’ He wished to
discover who was speaking, but only saw a pair of red fiery eyes, that
shone out of the darkness. He now set about his task, stopped up with
moss and herbage every chink through which a glimmer of daylight
passed, but this was a difficult, and--as it seemed to him--an endless
task. For when he thought he had done with one cranny and might turn
to another, the stopping fell out, and he was obliged to begin anew.
The snorting thing at the back of the cavern went on rattling out
sounds without meaning, only occasionally uttering intelligible words,
which seemed to denote that the creature was boasting of its deep
investigations.
“Time appeared to the student to be hastening along with the greatest
rapidity, while he was pursuing his work of despair. Days, weeks,
months, years, seemed to come and go, and yet he felt nothing like
hunger or thirst. He fancied he was nearly mad, and with a kind of
feigned passion, quietly repeated to himself the year in which he had
entered the wood, and that it was on the day of Peter and Paul, that he
might not lose all notion of time. The image of his beloved sleeper
appeared to him as from a far distance, he wept with desire and sorrow,
and yet he felt no tears flowing down his cheeks. All at once it
seemed to him as if he saw a well-known figure approach the sleeper,
contemplate her with rapture, and then bend over her as if to kiss her.
At this moment he was entirely conscious of pain and jealousy, and,
forgetting all around him, he darted towards the dark background of the
cavern. ‘The yew-branch!’ he cried, eagerly. ‘There it grows,’ said
the glaring snorting thing, and at the same time he felt in his hand
the branch of a tree, which grew from a dark chink in the grotto. He
was in the act of breaking one of the branches, when he heard a
whimpering noise around him, the glaring creature snorted louder than
ever, the cavern reeled, shook, and fell in, all became dark in the
eyes of the student, and he involuntarily shouted out:
‘Before the yew tree,
All magic must flee.’
“When his eyes again became clear, he looked around him. A dry,
strangely-discoloured stick was in his hand. He stood amid a heap of
stones, which arched themselves to a cavern, which was not very large.
In the depth of it he heard shrill, piping sounds, like those commonly
uttered by great owls. The place around seemed changed. It was a
moderate eminence, bare, and scanty, and sprinkled over with stones of
no remarkable magnitude, between which the path by which he had
ascended, led on one side, through the damp soil, to the abyss. Of the
large blocks of rock, nothing more was to be seen. He was freezing
with cold, although the sun was high in the heavens, and, as it seemed
to him, in the same place as when he went out to fetch the bough, which
had now become a withered stick in his hand. Stepping over the stones,
he went down the path; the journey seemed wearisome, he was obliged to
support himself on the stick, his head hung down on his breast, and he
heard his breath, as it struggled forth with difficulty. On a slippery
part of the pathway his foot slid, and he was obliged to cling to the
hedge. In this act his hand came close to his eye, and appeared gray
and wrinkled. ‘Good God!’ cried he, seized with horror, ‘have I then
so long----?’ He did not dare to utter his own thoughts. ‘No,’ said
he, forcibly calming himself, ‘it is the cold wood-breeze that so
freezes me; the exertion has made me weak, and the broken greenish
light, which falls through the hedges, gives my hands this singular
colour.’ He stepped farther, and saw, lying on the stones, the wild
flowers and leaves, which he had thrown, on his ascent, to mark the
way. They were as fresh as if they had been but just placed there.
This was a new riddle for him. A charcoal-burner was chopping away the
trees by the wayside, and cutting off branches; so he asked him what
day it was. ‘Eh, father,’ said the man, ‘are you such a bad Christian,
that you do not know the Apostles’ days? This is Peter and Paul’s day,
when the stag leaves the wood for the corn. I am cutting out a toy for
my young one, out of the veiny bough. For any other purpose, I do not
work on this day; but that is all for pleasure and pastime, and is
allowed, says the chaplain.’
“‘I pray you, my good fellow,’ said the student, who felt a sensation
of horror, more and more painful, pervading him, ‘tell in what year of
our Lord we are!’ The charcoal-burner, whom even the holiday’s wash
had not quite freed from soot, raised up his strong-limbed black figure
from among the green bushes, and, after some hesitation, told the year.
“‘Oh, my Redeemer!’ shrieked the student, and, no longer supported by
his stick, he fell upon the stones. He then cast the stick away, and
crawled trembling down the stony path.
The black charcoal-burner, amazed, came out of the hedge upon the
stones, with the branch in his hand, saw the stick lying before him,
crossed himself, and said: ‘That is off the yew-tree, which grows
yonder on the Eulenstein, where the owl has his nest. They say that it
will enchant, and free that which is enchanted already. God help us!
the old man has uttered wicked things.’ He then returned to the
bushes, to go to his hut, and cut the plaything for his boy.
* * * * *
“In the pleasant woodland meadow below, near the beechen arbour, and by
the clear brook, which had there washed its banks to a wide basin, sat
the young knight, Conrad, and the fair one whom he had awakened from
slumber without any magic arts. The red, blue, and yellow flower-cups
pressed forth out of the grass around them, and the pair bloomed in
youth and beauty--the knight in gay accoutrements, the maiden in her
silver-bright veil, as the fairest flower that decked the enamel. He
had his arm gently round her waist, and said, looking with every
appearance of sincerity into her eye: ‘By the ashes of my dear mother,
and by the holy sign on the hilt of this sword, I am, as I have named
myself to thee, lord of castles, and ruler of my own life, and I
entreat thee, thou lovely wonder of this forest, to let thy lips speak
the word which shall make me thine for ever, with the blessing of the
priest before the altar.’
“‘And what word dost thou desire?’ said the fair one, as she modestly
lowered her eye-lashes. ‘Have not my eye, my cheek, my palpitating
bosom told all? Love[2] is a powerful queen, she pursues her path
unawares, and seizes whom she pleases, without suffering resistance.
Conduct me, before the decline of day, to the pious abbess of the
cloister at Odenwald, she will take me under her protection, and there
will I abide between quiet walls, till you come, and fetch me to your
home.’
“She was about to rise, but the young knight softly detained her, and
said, ‘Let us yet remain a few moments in this spot where my happiness
sprang up, like a golden legend. I still fear that you will vanish
from my sight, like some charming wood nymph. Help me to believe in
thee and thy lovely mortality. How didst thou come hither? What had
befallen thee?’
“‘This morning,’ replied the fair one, ‘I had fled into the forest from
my guardian, Count Archimbald, whose wicked designs, whether upon me or
my property I know not, were suddenly most frightfully apparent. Of
what use is a rich inheritance to youth and woman? She is always left
to herself and unprotected. I wished to fly to the abbess, I wished to
apply to the emperor at Mayence, indeed I scarcely knew what I wished.
Thus I came into these green halls of trees, my thoughts were not
directed to the true Aid, my thoughts were at war with Heaven.
Suddenly, while I saw this meadow already before me, I fancied that
something was spoken over yonder in the bushes, upon which I felt
myself and all around me transformed. I cannot describe the word nor
the sound of it, my beloved. The song of the nightingale is harsh to
its sweetness, and the rolling of the thunder is but a weak whisper
compared to it. It was certainly the most mysterious and the most
compulsory communication which is possible between heaven and earth.
On me it exercised an irresistible power, as it fell into a mind that
had lost all self-control, into the tumult of my senses, and there was
in me no holy thought to oppose it. My eyes closed, and yet I could
see the path before me, which my feet, as though conducted by soft,
invisible hands, were forced to tread. I slept and yet I did not
sleep; it was an indescribable situation under the influence of which I
at length sank down on the soft recess in yonder arbour. Every thing
around me was speaking and singing, I felt within me the billow-like
commotion of the most tumultuous rapture, every drop of my blood
flashed and danced through my veins, and yet in the depth of my soul
there was the most extreme horror at my state, and the most ardent
prayer for an awakening from my slumber. I perceived at the same time
that nothing of the horror appeared in my face, for strange to say I
could look at myself, and I saw that my cheeks smiled with delight, as
if songs of heavenly joy were sung to me. The sensation of pleasure
penetrated deeper and deeper into my heart, that of horror receded more
and more, and I felt dreadfully alarmed lest this one small point
should be totally extinguished, and I should have nothing but pleasure.
In this state of trouble, and apparently the loss of all consciousness,
I vowed that I would belong to him, who should awaken and deliver me.
I now perceived through my closed eyelids a dark form stooping over me.
The form was large and noble, and yet I felt a deep repugnance towards
this person, while the thought that it might be he, who had uttered the
fatal word passed through my mind like a shadow; nevertheless I still
cried out, silently indeed, but yet loudly, to myself, ‘If he wakens
thee and delivers thee, thou must belong to him for this ineffable
benefit, for thou hast vowed it.’ He did not awaken me!’
“‘I--I have awakened thee, my dearest love, and not by charms and
benedictions, no; but with a burning kiss on thy red lips!’ cried the
young knight, with transport, as he embraced the fair Emma. ‘Strange
have been the wonders in the Spessart which have brought us together.
On the highway yonder I had parted from my dear friend Peter, after the
strangest and most intricate discussion. When I had proceeded a few
hundred paces I suddenly felt very uneasy about him, so I alighted, and
wished again and again to exhort him to leave his dark ways, and go
with me to Mayence. As soon as I turned, I saw him slip into the wood.
I cried his name, but he heard me not. My spurs hindered me from
walking fast; I could only follow him in the distance, but nevertheless
I did not desist from calling after him, although it was all in vain.
At last I lost sight of his black cloak among the trees. The beautiful
green meadow was sparkling before me, and I wished to look at the
bright radiance of the flowers, so I came hither, after looking for my
friend in every direction. In the wood around me, there was a constant
stirring and waving from the breezes, the worms were all in motion, the
birds chirped and fluttered in a manner quite peculiar. However there
was no influence over me, probably because I was thinking of the plain
good path to which I would willingly bring Peter. When I found thee
sleeping, the most acute pity, together with the power of the sweetest
love, affected my heart, and I felt joyous. I nevertheless shed the
most scalding tears that ever flowed from my lively eyes. I think I
was allowed to peep into the corner, where that horror thou speakest
of, dwelt. Sobbing and laughing at the same time, I cried
‘I vow there’s not a flow’r that blows,
Can rival woman’s rosy lips,
Where ev’ry sweet is dwelling.
The rose at May’s soft kisses glows,
And sure a kiss should grace those lips
So fondly, sweetly swelling.’
“‘And then my lips, in God’s name, gave thine their greeting.’
“‘And the fetters fell from me, I awoke, and my first glance met thy
faithful, weeping eye,’ cried the fair Emma. ‘I thanked God, on whose
name I again thought, for my deliverance; and then I thanked Him that
it was thou, and not that dark man, that had delivered me.’
“The young knight became thoughtful. ‘I fear,’ said he, ‘that all the
mysterious wonders of this wood stand in connexion with Peter. I fear
that on this day, when I have gained my love, I have lost my friend.
What can have become of him?’
“The youthful pair started from each other, for they saw in the water
at their feet, between their own blooming heads, an icy gray, aged one
reflected. ‘Here he is,’ said a trembling, stooping old man, with hair
as white as snow, who stood behind them. He wore the new black cloak
of the student.
“‘Yes,’ said the old man, with weak, faint voice, ‘I am thy friend,
Peter of Stetten. I have stood long behind you, and I have heard your
converse, and our fates are clear enough. It is still the day of Peter
and Paul, on which we met and parted on the highway, which is scarcely
a thousand paces from here, and since we parted, perhaps an hour may
have elapsed, for the shadow which yonder hedge casts upon the turf, is
but a little increased. Before that hour we were four-and-twenty years
of age; but during that hour you have become sixty minutes older, and I
sixty years. I am now four-and-eighty. Thus do we see each other
again; indeed I did not think it.’
“Conrad and Emma had arisen. She clung timidly to her lover, and said
softly: ‘It is a poor madman.’ But the old man said: ‘No, fair Emma, I
am not mad. I have loved thee; my spell influenced thee, and thou
mightest have been mine, had I been permitted to kiss thy rosy lips in
God’s name--the only benediction by which fair love may be awakened.
Instead of this, I was forced to go in quest of the yew-bough, and to
keep the wind and weather out of the owl’s cave. All has happened of
necessity. He has gained the bride, I have gained--death.’
“Conrad had been looking with fixed eyes at the countenance of the old
man, to see if he could detect among the wrinkles one former lineament
of the friend of his youth. At last he stammered forth: ‘I entreat
thee, man, tell us how this transformation was brought about, lest our
brains be turned, and we do something frightful.’
“‘Whoever tempts God and nature shall behold sights, the presence of
which shall quickly wither him,’ replied the old man. ‘Therefore, man,
even if he see the plants grow, and understand the discourse of birds,
remains as simple as before, allows a foolish magpie to pass off upon
him fables of a princess and a spider-king, and takes ladies’ veils for
cobwebs. Nature is a curtain, no magical word can remove it--it will
only make thyself an old fable.’
“He retired slowly into the depths of the wood, whither Conrad did not
venture to follow him. He conducted his Emma from the shadow of the
trees to the broad road, where the light played in all its colours
around the tops of the trees.
“For some time did travellers in the Spessart hear a hollow and
ghost-like voice, behind the rocks and thick groups of trees, utter
rhymes, which to some sounded like nonsense, to others like perfect
wisdom. If they followed the sound, they found the old man, whose
years were yet so few, as with faded eyes, and hands resting on his
knees, he looked fixedly in the distance, and uttered sentences, none
of which have been preserved. Soon, however, they were heard no more,
neither was the corpse of the old man discovered.
“Conrad married his Emma; she bore him fair children, and he lived
happily with her to an advanced age.”
J. O.
[1] One of the most celebrated poets in the 12th and 13th centuries.
[2] The old word for “lore” _Minne_, from which “Minnesinger” is
derived, is feminine.
NOSE, THE DWARF.
BY W. HAUFF.
[This story is from the collection called “The Sheik of Alexandria and
his Slaves,” and is supposed to be told by a slave to the Sheik.]
Sir, those people are much mistaken who fancy that there were no
fairies and enchanters, except in the time of Haroun Al Raschid, Lord
of Bagdad, or even pronounce untrue those accounts of the deeds of
genii and their princes, which one hears the story-tellers relate in
the market-places of the town. There are fairies now-a-days, and it is
but a short time since that I myself was witness of an occurrence in
which genii were evidently playing a part, as you will see from my
narrative. In a considerable town of my dear fatherland, Germany,
there lived many years ago a cobbler, with his wife, in an humble but
honest way. In the daytime he used to sit at the corner of a street
mending shoes and slippers; he did not refuse making new ones if any
body would trust him, but then he was obliged to buy the leather first,
as his poverty did not enable him to keep a stock. His wife sold
vegetables and fruit, which she cultivated in a small garden outside
the town-gates, and many people were glad to buy of her, because she
was dressed cleanly and neatly, and knew well how to arrange and lay
out her things to the best advantage.
Now this worthy couple had a beautiful boy, of a sweet countenance,
well made, and rather tall for his age, which was eight years. He was
in the habit of sitting in the market with his mother, and often
carried home part of the fruit and vegetables for the women and cooks
who had made large purchases; he seldom, however, returned from one of
these journeys without bringing either a beautiful flower, a piece of
money, or a cake, which the mistresses of such cooks gave him as a
present, because they were always pleased to see the handsome boy come
to the house.
One day the cobbler’s wife was sitting as usual in the marketplace,
having before her some baskets with cabbages and other vegetables,
various herbs and seeds, besides some early pears, apples, and
apricots, in a small basket. Little James (this was the boy’s name)
sat by her, crying the things for sale in a loud voice: “This way,
gentlemen, see what beautiful cabbages, what fragrant herbs; early
pears, ladies, early apples and apricots; who will buy? My mother
sells cheap.”
While the boy was thus crying, an old woman was coming across the
market; her dress was rather tattered and in rags, she had a small,
sharp face, quite furrowed with age, red eyes, and a pointed, crooked
nose, which reached down to her chin; in her walk she supported herself
by a long stick, and yet it was difficult to say exactly how she
walked, for she hobbled and shuffled along, and waddled as if she were
on casters, and it was as if she must fall down every instant and break
her pointed nose on the pavement.
The cobbler’s wife looked attentively at this old woman. For sixteen
years she had been sitting daily in the market, yet she had never
observed this strange figure, and therefore involuntarily shuddered
when she saw the old hag hobbling towards her and stopping before her
baskets.
“Are you Jane, the greengrocer?” she asked in a disagreeable, croaking
voice, shaking her head to and fro.
“Yes, I am,” replied the cobbler’s wife; “what is your pleasure?”
“We’ll see, we’ll see, we’ll look at your herbs--look at your herbs, to
see whether you have what I want,” answered the old woman; and stooping
down she thrust her dark brown, unsightly hands into the herb-basket,
and took up some that were beautifully spread out, with her long
spider-legged fingers, bringing them one by one up to her long nose,
and smelling them all over. The poor woman almost felt her heart break
when she saw the old hag handle her herbs in this manner, but she dared
not say any thing to her, the purchasers having a right to examine the
things as they pleased; besides which, she felt a singular awe in the
presence of this old woman. After having searched the whole basket,
she muttered, “wretched stuff, wretched herbs, nothing that I
want--were much better fifty years ago--wretched stuff! wretched stuff!”
Little James was vexed at these words. “Hark ye,” he cried, boldly,
“you are an impudent old woman; first you thrust your nasty brown
fingers into these beautiful herbs and squeeze them together, then you
hold them up to your long nose, so that no one seeing this will buy
them after you, and you abuse our goods, calling them wretched stuff,
though nevertheless the duke’s cook himself buys all his herbs of us.”
The old woman leered at the bold boy, laughed disgustingly, and said in
a hoarse voice, “Little son, little son, you like my nose then, my
beautiful long nose? You shall have one too in the middle of your face
that shall reach down to your chin.”