Household stories from the Land of Hofer; or, Popular Myths of Tirol
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Title: Household stories from the Land of Hofer; or, Popular Myths of Tirol
Author: Rachel Harriette Busk
Release date: January 24, 2014 [eBook #44746]
Most recently updated: October 24, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HOUSEHOLD STORIES FROM THE LAND OF HOFER; OR, POPULAR MYTHS OF TIROL ***
HOUSEHOLD STORIES
FROM THE LAND OF HOFER
OR,
POPULAR MYTHS OF TIROL,
INCLUDING THE
ROSE-GARDEN OF KING LAREYN.
BY
THE AUTHOR OF "PATRAÑAS; OR, SPANISH
STORIES," &c.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY T. GREEN.
LONDON:
GRIFFITH AND FARRAN,
SUCCESSORS TO NEWBERY AND HARRIS,
CORNER OF ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD.
MDCCCLXXI.
LONDON: GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS, ST. JOHN'S SQUARE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Introduction 1
Norg Myths 13
1. The Eggshells 14
2. The Reckoning Day 15
3. Fritzl and the Tarnkappe 22
4. The Rose-garden of King Lareyn 26
Myths of North and South Tirol.
The Nickel of the Röhrerbüchel 73
The Wilder Jäger and the Baroness 110
The Grave Prince and the Beneficent Cat 131
Klein-Else 158
Prince Radpot 188
The Three Black Dogs 207
Ottilia and the Death's Head 217
The Two Caskets 229
The Prudent Counsellor 235
The Geeseherds 253
St. Peter's Three Loaves 265
Myths of Wälsch-Tirol.
The two Cousins of St. Peter 273
Luxehale's Wives (including the Legends of the
Marmolata) 278
Zovanin Senza Paura; or, the Boy who went out to
discover Fear 335
The Dove-Maiden 356
Myths of Vorarlberg.
Kriselda 386
The Golden Pears 394
How the Poorest became the Richest 403
HOUSEHOLD STORIES
FROM THE LAND OF HOFER.
INTRODUCTION.
"Blessed are the people of whom history is silent; for
history occupies itself more with the doings of fools than of
the wise; with storms than with tranquil days: it immortalizes
the butcher and the tyrant, and consigns to oblivion
the innocent and peaceful."--Cibrario.
Something of the deep, strong attachment to their native mountains
which is innate in the children of the Alps steals over me when I
think of my pleasant journeyings in Tirol [1].
Though it is a little, out-of-the-way country whose cry is seldom heard
in the newspapers, though it exercises little influence in political
complications, the character of its people is one which, next after
that of our own, has a claim to our esteem and admiration. Hardy,
patient, and persevering; patriotic and loyal to a fault; honest and
hospitable to a proverb--they carry the observance of their religion
into the minutest practice of every-day life; and there underlies
all these more solid qualities a tender, poetical, romantic spirit
which throws a soft halo round their ceaseless toil, and invests
their heroic struggles for independence with a bright glow of chivalry.
Surrounded from their earliest years with living pictures of Nature's
choicest forms and colouring, they need no popular fiction to cultivate
their imagination, no schools of design to educate their taste.
Shut out from the world's ambitions by their pathless Alps, they have
learned to see before them two aims alone,--to maintain the integrity
and the sanctity of their humble homes on earth, and to obtain one
day a place in that better Home above, to which the uplifted fingers
of their sun-bathed mountain-peaks ever gloriously point.
The paramount claims on their hearts' allegiance of the hearth and
the altar are inseparably interwoven in their social code, and their
creed scarcely knows of a distinction between Nature and Nature's God.
At their mother's knee they have learnt, every one, to prattle
of their Father in heaven with as complete a realization of His
existence as of that of their father on earth. Just as they receive
their toil-won food and raiment as an earnest of the paternal care
of the one, the change of the seasons, the sunshine and the rain,
betoken to them as certainly that of the Other. They scarcely trace
any line of demarcation between the natural and the supernatural;
and earth and sky are not for them the veil which hides Divinity, but
the very temple and shrine of the Godhead dwelling among His creatures.
Going forth in this simple faith through the pure, unfogged atmosphere
which surrounds them, it is scarce to be wondered at if they can trace
the guiding footprints and the unerring hand of Providence where for
others are only chances and coincidences. Or that--like the faint
outline of wished-for land revealing itself to the trained eye of
the sailor, where the landsman sees but a hopeless expanse of sky and
ocean--they should recognize a personal will and individuality in the
powers which are the messengers to them of the good pleasure of Heaven,
in the germination of fruit and grain, in the multiplication of their
flocks and herds; or of the envious malice of the Evil One, in the
wind and the lightning, the torrent and the avalanche, destroying
the work of their hands.
It is necessary to bear this well in mind, or we shall not appreciate
the delights which their fantastic tales have in store for us. We
must learn to realize that this way of viewing things has created a
nomenclature, almost a language, of its own.
When the boisterous blast sweeps through their valleys, scattering the
scent of the wild game, and driving them far out of their reach, they
say it is the Wilder Jäger [2], the Beatrìk [3], or the Nachtvolk
[4], on his chase. Their restless energies, pent up within the
shelter of their rattling walls and casements, invest him with a
retinue of pitiless followers and fiery-eyed hounds--while the fate
of some who have ventured out while he is said to be abroad, blown
over precipices or lost in crevasses, is expressed by the fancy that
his train is closed by a number of empty pairs of shoes, which run
away with those who come within his influence.
When the bright beams of sun and moon enliven their landscape,
or fructify their seed, or guide their midnight way, they fable of
them as beautiful maidens with all sorts of fanciful names derived
from associations as old as the world: Perahta, brightness, daughter
of Dagha, the daylight--hence, also, Perchtl and Berchtl. In other
localities, Holda or Hulda; in others again, they are known as Angane,
and Enguane, the Saligen Fraüelein, Nornen, Zarger Fraüelein, and
Weissen Fraüelein. They say they smile on the overburdened peasant,
beguile his labour by singing to him, show him visions of beautiful
landscapes, bestow wonderful gifts--loaves which never diminish,
bowls and skittles, charcoal and corn of pure gold; to the husbandman
they give counsels in his farming; to the good housewife an unfailing
store--bobbins of linen thread which all her weaving never exhausts;
they help the youth or the maiden to obtain the return of the love they
have longed for, and have some succour in store for every weary soul.
Such helpers the people recognize of the masculine gender, also, in
the so-called Nörgl, Pechmannl, Pützl, Wiehtmännlein, Käsermännlein,
and Salvanel; for possibly, they say, not all the angels who rebelled
with Lucifer may have been cast into the outer darkness. There may
have been some not so evilly disposed themselves, but talked over
and led astray by others; and such, arrested in their descent by a
merciful reprieve, may have been only banished to the desolate and
stony places of the earth, to tops of barren mountains and fruitless
trees. Such as these might be expected to entertain a friendly
feeling for the human beings who inhabit the regions which gave them
shelter, and to be ready to do them a good turn when it lay in their
way--lift weights, and carry burdens for them up the steep heights,
and protect their wild game. And, also, it is not inconsistent with
their nature to love to play them a mischievous trick full oft--make
off with the provision of loaves prepared for the mowers; sit, while
remaining invisible, on their sledges and increase their difficulty
and confusion in crossing the mountain-paths lost in snow; entice
them into the woods with beseeching voices, and then leave them to
wander in perplexity; overturn the farm-maids' creaming-pans; roll
the Senner's cheeses down the mountain sides.
Worse tricks than these are those of the Wilder Mann. When the soil
is sterile and ungrateful; when any of the wonted promises of nature
are unfulfilled; when the axe of the lonely woodman rebounds from
the stubborn trunk and wounds him; when the foot of the practised
mountain-climber fails him on the crisp snow, or the treacherously
sun-parched heather; when a wild and lawless wight (for such there are
even in Tirol, though fewer, perhaps, than elsewhere) illtreats the
girl who has gone forth to tend her father's flock upon the mountains,
trusting in her own innocence and Heaven's help for her protection--it
is always the Wilder Mann--in some places called the Wilder Jörgel, in
others, the Lorg, the Salvang or Gannes, the Klaubaut or Rastalmann,
in Vorarlberg, Fengg, Schrättlig, Doggi, and Habergâss--to whose
account the misfortune or the misdeed is laid. His female counterpart
is called Trude and Stampa, and the Langtüttin.
The mineral riches of the country, and the miners occupied in
searching for them, are told of as of hidden treasure sought after or
revealed, as the case may be, by the Bergweib and the Bergmannlein,
or Erdmannlein, the Venedigermannlein and the Hahnenkekerle, the
stories of whose strength and generosity, cupidity and spite, are
endless; while the mountain echoes are the voices of sprites playfully
imitating the sounds of human life.
If the mountains and the forests are thus treated, neither are the
lakes and torrents without their share of personification, and many
are the legends in which the uses and beauties of the beneficent
element are interpreted to be the smiles and the helpful acts of the
Wasserfraülein, while the mischances which occur at the water's edge
are ascribed to the Stromkarl and the Brückengeist.
The sudden convulsions of nature to which their soil has been subject
from age to age are all charged with retribution for the sins of the
people, like the overthrow of Sodom and Gomorrah and the cities of
the plain. Castles and forest possessions of wicked rich men are sunk
beneath the waters of lakes so that their foundations may never again
be set up, and their place be no more found; while a curse pursues
those who attempt to dig out the ill-gotten treasure. Villages
are recorded to have been swallowed by the earth or buried by the
snow-storms when their people have neglected the commandments of God.
This literal adaptation of the admonitions of Holy Writ receives among
this people another development in traditions of instances where good
deeds done to the poor have been believed to have been actually done
to visions of our Lord and of His Saints. Then again, their devout
belief in both the irresistible justice and the ineffable love of
God convinces them that there must be a place on earth where souls
too soiled for heaven, yet not given over to utter reprobation, may
wander till the final day of rest. And thus every shepherd, as he keeps
his lonely watch upon the Alpine pastures, expects that he may meet
the feurige Sennin who broke the Sunday rest; or the Tscheier Friedl
who was cruel to the cattle in his charge; or the büssender Hirt who
stole the widow's kine; or the Markegger who removed his neighbour's
landmark; or the Pungga-Mannl who swore a false oath; or the feuriger
Verräther who betrayed the mountain pass to the Roman legions.
On the other hand, the heroes and types of the Christian faith are
thought of as taking a perpetual interest in the welfare of their
struggling brethren: St. Nothburga and St. Isidore watch over
the husbandman, and St. Urban over the vinedresser; St. Martin
over the mower; St. Martha, St. Sebastian, and St. Rocchus, the
drei Pestschutzheiligen [5], are expected to be as potent in their
intercession now as when at their prayers, when on earth, plagues
were stayed. St. Anthony and St. Florian similarly protect against
fire. St. Vigilius, the evangelizer of the country and martyr to
his zeal, is still believed to guard its jealously-preserved unity
of faith. In return, they receive special veneration: the ordinary
dealings of life are regulated by the recurrence of their festivals,
and the memory of sacred mysteries is kept in perpetual honour by
setting up their tokens in every homestead and every house, in every
vineyard and in every field, on every bridge and by every wayside.
It is not surprising that a people so minded have tales to tell
of wonderful events which seem to have befallen them, and which
take the record of their lives out of the prosaic monotony which
rules our own,--tales always bearing a wholesome moral lesson,
always showing trust in Providence and faith in the World Unseen,
and always told with the charming simplicity which only a logically
grounded expectation that events should turn out even so--and no
invention or imagination--can give.
A selection of these tales I have put into English dress in the
following pages. Though some few of them may be found to bear analogy
with similar tales of other German nations, the distinctive qualities
of the Tirolese, and the peculiar nature of the scenery amid which
they have been conceived, will be found to have stamped them with a
character entirely their own.
I think that what I have said is sufficient to give, to such of my
readers as did not possess it already, the key to their application,
and I need not now append to each a tedious interpretation of the
fantastic personages and scenes I shall have to introduce.
It remains only to say a word as to their distribution. The present
principality of Tirol is composed of four provinces. North Tirol,
South Tirol, Wälsch or Italian Tirol, and Vorarlberg. North and South
Tirol have been for long so closely united that, like their language
and customs, their mythology has become so intimately intermingled that
it scarcely comes within the scope of a work like the present to point
out their few divergences or local peculiarities. But those of Wälsch
Tirol and Vorarlberg each maintain a much more distinctive character,
and I have accordingly marked with a separate heading those which I
have gathered thence.
"The Rose-garden of King Lareyn," however, is not the peculiar property
of any one province. Though the three places which claim to occupy its
site are all placed in South Tirol, this pretty myth is the common
property of the whole country--its chief popular epic--and has even
passed into the folklore of other parts of Germany also. It is beside
the purpose of the present little work to enter into the controversy
which has been raised concerning the authorship. There can be little
doubt, however, that it was originally the utterance of some unknown
minstrel putting into rough-and-ready rhyme one of the floating myths
which symbolized the conflict of the heroes with the powers of evil,
so popular in the middle ages. Then poets of more pretensions wrote
out, and, as they wrote out, improved the song. Thus there are several
different manuscripts of it extant, of between two and three thousand
lines each, but not of equal value, for later scribes, in trying
to improve, overlaid the simple energy of its diction with a feeble
attempt at ornament which only served to damage its force. The name of
the Norg-king who is the subject of it, is in these spelt variously,
as Lareyn, Luarin, Luarine, &c.; the modern orthography is Laurin. The
spelling I have adopted is that of the Chronicon of Aventinus.
I have thought it well to precede the story by some account of the
Norg folk and some samples of their legends, that the reader may not
come wholly unacquainted with their traditional character to the tale
of the discomfiture of the last Norg-king.
NORG MYTHS.
The Norgen were a mighty folk in olden time in Tirol. In their
span-high bodies resided a power which no child of man, were he ever
so stalwart and well-limbed, could resist. But they were also for
the most part a peaceable race, and more inclined to assist than to
obstruct the industrious inhabitants of the country in their labours;
so long as they were treated with respect and deference they seldom
interfered with any one. Then they were generally scrupulously
honourable, and strict keepers of their word. A service rendered
one of them was sure to be repaid a hundredfold. An injury brought
a corresponding retribution, and scorn, contempt, or ridicule roused
their utmost vengeance; while some there were who entertained a true
spirit of mischief, and indulged in wanton tricks which showed their
character was not altogether free from malice.
They were most often to be met in lonely paths and unfrequented
fastnesses of nature, but a solitary Nörglein could also occasionally
stray within the haunts of men, at times asking hospitality at their
hands, and at others getting into the bedrooms at night, and teasing
the children in their sleep, hence the common proverb--
"Shut the door closely to,
Or the Norg will come through [6]."
And at other times, again, they would take part in the field and
household labours, as if they found it sport. The name of Norg
was chiefly appropriated to them in South Tirol; in Vorarlberg the
analogous cobbold went by the name of Rutschifenggen. Every locality,
every valley, every hamlet, and almost every farm, had its own familiar
dwarf whose doings were handed down as household words.
Thus it is told that there was once a countrywoman, who lived in a
lonely Meierhof [7] of the Passeierthal, standing over her stove,
preparing a pancake for her husband's dinner, and as he was a great
eater she used an immense number of eggs--three dozen and more--in
his pancake: as fast as she broke the eggs into the pan, she threw
the shells behind her. Three Norgs came by as she was so occupied
and amused themselves with playing with them and arranging them into
all kinds of patterns. The Meierin [8] was a grumpy sort of woman,
and instead of finding pleasure in the glee of the little people,
grew cross with them, and scattered the dirty black ashes among the
egg-shells they had arranged so prettily. Offended at this ill-natured
treatment, the Norgs took their departure, but first laid the thread
of the good wife's spinning-bobbin as a snare across the floor,
and then stationed themselves outside the window to see what happened.
Presently the husband called to know if the pancake was not ready, and
the Meierin, running to satisfy him, with both hands engaged in holding
the dish of the enormous pancake, caught her feet in the thread, and
fell flat on the ground with her face in the dish, while the three
Norgs completed her vexation by setting up a loud laugh in chorus.
Here is another story of their doings, in which they play a different
part. There was a storm in the valley of Matsch, and a storm in the
valley of Matsch is often a terrible matter. This was one of the
worst: the pitiless flood streamed down the heights, and threatened
to overflow the banks of the Hochseen [9]; the wind from the glacier
howled dismally over the mountain-sides; the people closed their
doors and shutters against the blast, and listened to the roar of the
elements, trembling with the thought that every moment might come the
signal of the inundation which should carry them and their habitations
away in its torrent. In the solidest and most important house of
the straggling village, which bears the same name as the valley,
was gathered the family of the richest man of the place, who had no
reason to share these fears, but with singing and lively conversation
chased away the dismal influence of the lugubrious sounds without.
Suddenly, between the angry gusts of wind, a doleful voice was heard
piteously praying for help. One of the party opened the casement,
and looked out, but with more of curiosity than interest, and then
quickly closing it again, came back into the room with a laugh to
describe the ludicrous figure he had seen. It was a little mannikin
with a beard big enough for a full-grown man, his clothes drenched
with the rain, and slung over his shoulder a tiny bundle tied in a
handkerchief, which yet seemed to bow him down with its weight. The
description provoked a chorus of laughter, and the wretched little
Norg--for it was a Norg--would have been no more thought of but that
his wail became more irritating than that of the wind, and at last
the master of the house got up and shouted to him to go on, for it
was useless to stand droning there, he was not going to open his house
at that time of night, or to such a ridiculous object. But though he
banged the window to as closely as possible after delivering himself
of this speech, the little man's menacing couplet yet reached his ear--
"The reckoning day
Is not far away [10]."
Nevertheless the Norg begged no more, but endeavoured to pass on his
way. He could not get far: the torrents of rain had obliterated the
path which led from the rising ground on which this house was built,
to the next, and it was scarcely safe to descend in the dark with the
loose stones rattling away under the feet. Fortunately a glimmering
light betrayed a low hut built into the slope. It looked so poor and
humble, that the Norg felt ashamed to ask aught of its inhabitants,
who could scarcely have had enough for their own needs; but when he
saw how utterly forlorn was his position, he sat down on a stone,
and wept. Notwithstanding that the poor little Norg had such a
hoarse voice that it was more like that of a wild animal than a man,
there was a compassionate little maid within who perceived it was a
voice of distress, and put her head out to ask who was there. "Poor
old man!" she cried; "come inside and dry yourself, and let me give
you something warm." But before he could answer he heard a weak voice
within, "Beware, Theresl, of the wolves--remember we are in 'Matsch der
Wölfe Heimath [11].'" "Never fear, mother dear," replied the maiden,
"this is no wolf, but a very distressed little old man, who does not
look as if he could harm any one; and besides we are now in June--the
wolves don't threaten us in the summer," and she opened the door,
and let in the little man.
By the time she had dried his clothes and fed him with some warm
soup, the worst of the storm had abated, and he was able to go on his
way. The maiden offered him shelter for the night, but he declared
he must reach home before midnight, and prepared to depart. Before
he left he asked her what there was she most desired. "Oh, that my
mother be restored to health!" answered Theresa; "I desire nothing
more than that!"
The Norg walked to the bedside, and informed himself of the
nature of the sick mother's illness. "Your mother shall be
cured," said the little man; "but you must come to me to-morrow
at midnight to the Nörgelspitz;" and as the girl started at the
impossibility of the feat, he continued, "You have only to make
your way as far as the Wetterkreuz, and there call three times
'Kruzinegele! Kruzinegele! Kruzinegele!' and I will be at your side,
and take you up the rest of the way." And he took his departure,
singing,--
"Morgen oder Heut
Kommt die Zahlzeit."
The next night Theresa courageously set out on her way, and climbed
as far as the Wetterkreuz--and it was lucky she had to go no farther,
for here she sank down quite exhausted. She had not lain there many
seconds when she saw a procession of little men just like Kruzinegele,
with a litter and torches, who carried her up till they came to
a door in the rock, which opened at their approach. This led to a
magnificent crystal hall glittering with gold and gems, and on a
gold throne sat Kruzinegele himself, with his fair daughter by his
side. When the litter was brought to the steps of the throne, he
came down courteously, and renewed his thanks for her hospitality,
but she could not find a word to say, in her astonishment at seeing
him so changed. Meantime he sent his daughter to fetch the herbs
which were to cure the poor mother, and gave them to her, telling
her how to administer them. "You see," he added,--
"Morgen oder Heut
Kommt die Zahlzeit;
and your rich neighbour will find it so too." Then he told the little
men to carry her home, and they laid her in the litter, and bore
her away; and she remembered nothing more till she found herself
comfortably in bed, with the rising sun kissing her cheeks. But the
appearance of every thing was as much changed as Kruzinegele himself
had been! The walls that used to bulge, and reek with mildew and
damp, were straight and smooth; glass casements replaced the ricketty
shutters; nice white curtains tempered the sunshine; the scanty and
broken furniture was replaced by new. But what she valued above all,
in her hand were the herbs which were to make her mother's healing
drink! Their decoction was her first occupation; and by the next day
they had restored her mother to health, and joy once more reigned in
the cottage, thanks to the Norg!
It had been the rich churl's custom, equally with the other villagers,
to take his cattle on to the mountain pastures to graze for the
beginning of the summer season am Johanni [12]. His grazing ground
was just the highest pasture of the Nörgelspitz. The festival now
soon arrived, and the picturesque processions of cattle with their
herds went lowing forth as usual, to enjoy their summer feed.
When the Norg's enemy, however, arrived at his destination, instead
of the emerald slopes he was wont to find, with their rich yield of
marbel and maim [13], all ready prepared by St. Martin's care [14] for
the delight of his cows and sheep, all was stony and desolate! Three
days they spent wandering about in search of a few blades to browse,
but even this was denied them--nor ever again did the Nörgelspitz
bring forth any thing but ice and snow!
Of the sleek droves which had started, the envy of all beholders, few
beasts lived to return; the prosperity of the once flourishing Hof
had fled, and before many years were out its proprietor was obliged
to leave it, a ruined man. Theresa had in the meantime married a
thrifty peasant, whose industry enabled him to be the purchaser of
the abandoned Hof, which he soon stocked to the full extent of former
days. Ofttimes a curious grey-bearded little stranger would drop in
at night to share their comfortable meal, and before he went away he
would always sing his couplet--
"Morgen oder Heut
Kommt die Zahlzeit."
Such occasional apparitions of the strange visitants excited the
curiosity of the inhabitants of the earth to the utmost, and many a
weird story was told of frightful injury happening to those who had
striven to penetrate their retreat, and for a long period none had
any success in the enterprise.
It happened one day, however, that a daring hunter who had been led
far from his usual track, and far from the country with which he was
familiar, by the pursuit of a gemsbock, found himself at the entrance
of a low-arched cavern. As night was about to fall and the sky wore
a threatening aspect, he was glad to creep within this shelter till
the light of morning should enable him to find his way home once more.
He had not proceeded far within the dim corridor, when he perceived
that in proportion as he got farther from the light of day the cave
became brighter instead of darker! Eagerly seeking the cause of this
phenomenon, he perceived that the walls were all encrusted with gold
and precious stones, which emitted constant sparkles of light. He
thereby recognized at once that he had reached an approach to one of
the resorts of the Mountain-folk, as the Norgs were also called from
having their habitation in the hearts of the mountains.
To avoid the fate of those who had ventured within the mysterious
precincts, he was about to make good his escape, when he felt something
soft under his feet. It proved to be a red hood or cap, dropped there
by one of the Mountain-folk, a veritable Tarnkappe which had the
property of making the wearer invisible to men, and also enabled him
to command admission to any part of the subterranean settlement. He
had scarcely placed it on his head when one of the little men of the
mountain came running up to look for his lost cap. Fritzl the hunter
was much too cunning to give up the advantage of its possession, but
with great good humour he told the dwarf he reckoned it too great an
advantage to have the opportunity of visiting his beautiful territory
to give it up for nothing; but he assured him he should have no reason
to regret having given him admission. The dwarf could not choose but
obey, and the Jäger enjoyed the singular privilege of surveying all
the hidden treasures of the underground world.
Beautiful are the glories of the mountain world as seen by mortal
eyes--gorgeous its colours when illumined by the southern sun,
but all this is as barren darkness compared with the glories hidden
within its stony recesses. Here, the sky overhead was all of diamonds
and sapphires and carbuncles, and their light sparkled with tenfold
glory and beauty to the light of the sun and moon and stars; the
trees were of living gold and silver, and the flowers and fruit of
precious stones; the grass all of crystal and emerald; there was
no cold or heat, no perplexing change of season, but one perpetual
spring spread its balmy air around; lakes there were all of opal and
mother-o'-pearl, and gorgeously plumed swans perpetually crossing
them served the inhabitants in lieu of boats.
The Jäger's delight and admiration at all these sights won the sympathy
and regard of his guide, and by degrees he grew more communicative,
and explained to him the whole economy of their mode of life. He showed
him how they were divided into three distinct classes: those wearing
red caps, who were gay and good-natured, and filled with goodwill
towards mankind also, notwithstanding many wild pranks; those with
brown caps, whose mischief was mingled with malice rather than fun,
but who yet would suffer themselves to be propitiated; and those
with black caps, always gloomy and morose, who boded evil wherever
they went. His guide advised him to have nothing to say to these,
but with some of the red and brown he was admitted to converse: he
found them pleasant and sociable, and ready enough to communicate
their ideas. Some asked him questions, too, about various matters
which seemed to have puzzled them in their peregrinations on earth,
while others, who had never been outside their own habitations,
had other inquiries to make--but some there were also who had no
curiosity on the subject, but rather contempt; and one thing that
amused the Jäger in them was their incapacity to conceive many of
the things he had to tell them, and particularly to understand what
he could mean when he talked about death.
Chiefly to keep the spiteful freaks of the black-caps in check
there was a guard of warrior dwarfs, whose array was shown to our
Jäger. Formidable they must have been, for the armour of each was made
out of one diamond, and they wore helmets and greaves and shields all
of diamonds, and while they were thus impervious to every attack, their
swords were of diamond too, and resistless therefore in their thrusts.
The Jäger could not restrain his raptures at their gorgeous show, as
the colours of the gems around were reflected in this shining armour.
The dwarf had nothing left to show after this, but then stood and
sighed over the glories of the past. "And what were the glories of the
past?" inquired the Jäger, with intense interest. The dwarf watched his
interlocutor closely, and satisfied himself that his interest was not
feigned. Then he paused long, as hesitating whether to unburden himself
to a stranger of the sad thoughts which crowded into and oppressed
his mind. A few words of sympathy, however, decided him at last
"Yes, we still have some power and some riches left, and some of
our ancient strength, but we have lost our kings, the kernel of
our strength. It is true, we are able to surprise you with isolated
exhibitions of riches and power, but, on the whole, your people has got
the better of ours; and since your heroes of old destroyed the last of
our royal race, we have been a doomed, disorganized, dwindling race,
fast disappearing from our ancient fastnesses."
"And how happened it that our people got the better of yours? How
did our heroes destroy your royal race? I pray you tell me."
The dwarf led the Jäger into a delicious alcove of the opal rock, whose
pure, pale lustre seemed more in accordance with his melancholy mood
than the garish brilliancies that had hitherto surrounded them. They
laid them down on the bank, and the dwarf thus recounted the story.
THE ROSE-GARDEN OF LAREYN, THE LAST NORG-KING.
The lineage of our kings had endured for countless generations,
he said, and had always enjoyed the undeviating homage of our people.
In our kings were bound up our life and our strength; they were the
fountain of our light and the guardians of our power. The royal race
was a race apart which had never mingled with the race of the governed,
yet which had never failed or been found wanting. But Adelgar cast his
eyes on Hörele, one of the Norginnen of the common herd, and raised
her to share his throne. The union not only was unblessed--what was
worse, all the rest of the royal stock died out, and all the noble
princes of his first marriage died away one after the other [15];
and when Hörele at last came to die herself, there was only one left.
This was Lareyn, the last of his race. Adelgar looked around him
with tears, for there was none left to whom he could marry his son,
and he had experienced in himself the ill effects of departing from
the ancient tradition which forbade him from mingling his race with
the race of the governed, and he bewailed his folly.
But Lareyn bethought him of a remedy; he determined to go out into
the outer world, and choose him a wife among the daughters of its
inhabitants, and bring her to reign over the mountain people and
continue the royal stock. In a supreme council of the elders of the
kingdom it was decided to approve what he proposed. But Adelgar only
consented with much reluctance, and accompanied his permission with
many conditions and counsels, the chief of which were that Lareyn and
his suite should every one go forth clothed in a Tarnhaut [16], and
that he should exercise his choice in a far distant country where the
ways of the dwarfs were not known, and where, whatever might befall,
no friend of the bride could think of coming to his palace to seek
her, for the old king rightly judged that the Christian folk would
not willingly give a daughter of theirs to the Norgs.
Lareyn promised his father to attend to his injunctions, and
gave orders to prepare a thousand suits of diamond armour for his
body-guard, and five hundred suits of silk attire for his pages, who
were to bear the gifts with which he meant to captivate the maiden
of his choice, and Tarnhauts to cover them all--and, above all,
the presents themselves of jewels and priceless goldsmith's works,
at which the Norgen were very expert.
While all these things were being got ready Adelgar died, and Lareyn
succeeded to the crown. However much he desired to adhere to his
father's injunctions, he was forced to decide that under the altered
circumstances it could not be well for him to journey to a distance
from his kingdom, and to leave it long without a head. He determined,
therefore, to search the neighbourhood for a maiden that should please
him. In the meantime he made use of his newly acquired power to prepare
a dwelling to receive her which should correspond with the magnificence
of his presents, and by its dazzling lustre should make her forget all
that she might be inclined to regret in her earlier home. The highest
title of honour was now promised to whoso of his subjects could point
out to him an unexplored mine of beauty and riches. This was found in
a vault all of crystal, which no foot of dwarf had ever trod. Lareyn
was beside himself with gladness when he saw this; he ordered a
hundred thousand dwarfs immediately to set to work and form of it
a residence for his bride; to divide it into chambers for her use,
with walls and columns encrusted with gold; to engrave the crystal
with pleasing devices; and to furnish it with all that was meet for
her service. Thus arose the great Krystallburg [17] ever famous in the
lays of the Norgs, and which the cleverest and richest of the children
of men might have envied. That so glorious a palace might be provided
with a garden worthy of it, hundreds of thousands of other dwarfs were
employed to lay out the choicest beds and bowers that ever were seen,
all planted with roses of surpassing beauty, whose scent filled the air
for miles round, so that, wherever you might be, you should know by
the fragrant exhalation where to find the Rosengarten of King Lareyn
[18]. Engrossed with these congenial preparations, Lareyn forgot all
his prudence and moderation: that they might be completed with all
possible expedition the whole working community of the dwarfs was
drawn off from their ordinary occupations; the cultivation of the
land was neglected, and a famine threatened. Lareyn then would go
out and make a raid on the crops of the children of earth, and take
possession of whatever was required for the needs of his own people,
without regard for the outcry raised against him, knowing that,
strong in his supernatural strength, he had no retaliation to fear.
While thus he pursued his ravages every where with indiscriminating
fury, he one day came upon the arativo [19] of a poor widow whose
only son was her one support. The golden grain had been gathered into
her modest barn just as Lareyn and his marauders came by; swift,
like a flock of locusts, they had seized the treasure. The widow
sobbed, and her stalwart son fought against them in vain; Lareyn was
inexorable. At another time the good-nature of his Norg blood would
have prompted him at least to repay what he had appropriated in the
gold and precious stones of which he had such abundant store, but now
he thought of nothing but the prompt fulfilment of his darling design;
and he passed on his way unheeding the widow's curse.
At last the Krystallburg was complete, and the Rosengarten budding
ready to burst into a bloom of beauty. To so fair a garden he would
have no other fence but a girdle of silk, only he gave it for further
defence a law whereby any who should violate that bound should forfeit
his left foot and his right hand.
Lareyn looked round, and his heart was content. He felt satisfied now
that he had wherewithal to make any daughter of earth forget her own
home and her father's people, how delightful soever might have been
the place of her previous sojourn.
Donning his Tarnhaut, he went forth with his followers marshalled
behind him, all equally hidden from human sight.
He wandered from castle to castle, from Edelsitz [20] to Edelsitz,
from palace to palace, but nowhere found he the bride of his heart,
till he came to the residence of the Duke of Styria. Here, in a
garden almost as lovely as his own Rose-garden, he found a number of
noble knights assembled, and their ladies, all of surpassing beauty,
taking their pleasure on the greensward amid the flowers.
Lareyn had never seen so much beauty and gallantry, and he lingered
long with his attendant wights running from one to another, and
scanning the attractions of each, as a bee hovers from flower to
flower, gathering the honey from their lips. Each maiden was so
perfect, that he would have been content with any one of them, but
each was so guarded by her cavalier that he saw no way of approaching
her; at last, driven to despair, he wandered away under the shade of
a lonesome grove.
Here, under a leafy lime [21], his eye met a form of loveliness which
surpassed the loveliness of all the dames he had heretofore seen
put together, and he felt thankful now that he had not been able to
possess himself of any of them, for then he had never seen her who
now lay before him in all the bloom of her virgin perfection. Lareyn,
accustomed to associate his conceptions of beauty with a dazzling
blaze of gold and jewels, found an entirely new source of admiration
in the simple attire of the Styrian princess, for it was Simild,
daughter of Biterolf, Duke of Styria, who lay before him, seeking
rest amid the midday heat, draped only in virgin white, with wreathed
lilies for her single ornament.
Lareyn stood absorbed for some time in contemplation of her perfect
image. Then, hearing the voices of her companions drawing near, quickly
he flung a Tarnhaut over her, so that they trooped by, searching
for her, and passed on--seeing her not--to seek her farther. Then
he beckoned to the bearers of a litter he had prepared in readiness
to approach, into which her sylph-like form was soon laid; and over
hill and dale he carried her towards the Rosengarten.
They had got some way before Simild woke. Lareyn rode by her side,
watching for her eyes to open, and the moment she gave signs
of consciousness he made a sign for the cortége to halt. Quick as
thought a refection was laid out on the greensward, while a band of
Norg musicians performed the most delicious melody.
Simild, enraptured with the new sights and sounds, gazed around,
wondering where she was and what all the little creatures could be who
hopped around ministering to her with so much thoughtfulness. Lareyn
hastened to soothe her, but fancying that some of the Norgs were
wanting in some of their due services to her, he rated them in such
a positive tone of command that Simild began to perceive that he was
the master of this regiment of ministrants, and hence she inferred
that by some mysterious means she had fallen into his power; but what
those means could be she was at a loss to conceive.
Lareyn now displayed his presents, and in presenting them poured
forth the most enthusiastic praise of her beauty. Simild's vanity
and curiosity were both won; yet the strangeness of the situation,
the sudden separation from her friends, her ignorance of what might
be going to befall her, roused all her fears, and she continued to
repeat in answer to all his protestations of admiration that she
could listen to nothing from him till he had restored her to her home.
"This is the one thing, sweet princess, that I cannot do at your
bidding," he replied. "Whatever else you desire me to do shall be
instantly executed. And it is hardly possible for you to exhaust my
capacity of serving you."
Then he went on to describe the magnificence and riches of his kingdom,
and all the glories over which, as his bride, she would be called to
reign, till her curiosity was so deeply excited, and her opposition
to his carrying her farther grew so faint, that he lost no time in
taking advantage of her mood to pursue the journey.
In the meantime the greatest consternation had fallen on all the
friends of Simild. The maidens whose duty it was to wait on her sought
her every where, and not finding her they were afraid to appear before
her father. The knights and nobles who had been in her company were
distracted, feeling the duty upon them to restore her, and not knowing
which way to begin. The old Duke Biterolf shut himself up within the
palace and wept, objecting to see any one, for his heart was oppressed
with sorrow; and he refused to be comforted till his child should be
restored to him.
But Dietlieb, Simild's brother, a stout young sword [22], when he
had exhausted every counsel that occurred to him for discovering his
sister's retreat, determined to ride to Gardenna on the Garda-See,
the castle where resided Hildebrand [23] the Sage, renowned for wisdom,
and prudence, and useful counsel.
When Hildebrand the Sage saw him come riding yet a long way off, he
said to those who stood beside him on the battlements, "See Dietlieb
the Styrian, how he rides! His heart is full of indignation. Up,
my men, there is work for us; some one has done him a great wrong,
and us it behoves to stand by him, and see him righted."
Ute, Hildebrand's wife, and her daughters prepared a warm welcome for
the prince, as was due; and the heroes gathered round Hildebrand held
out their hands to him as to one whose integrity and valour claimed
their respect. Hildebrand himself led him to his chamber, and left
to no maiden the task of helping him off with his armour [24], but
with his own hand lifted off his helmet and laid by his good shield.
Then they placed refreshing wine from the cool cellar in the rock
before him, and a banquet of many dishes, as became so worthy a
guest. When the tables had been removed [25], Hildebrand invited his
young guest to detail the cause which had brought him. Dietlieb, who
was burning to tell the story of his mishap, poured out the details
of his sister's misadventure, without omitting the smallest incident
which could serve Hildebrand to form an opinion as to the remedy to
be adopted.
The event was so strange that Hildebrand himself could not venture
all at once to divine the nature of the injury. But he forbore also
to express his perplexity, lest the bold young Styrian should be
discouraged. Without therefore expounding exactly what his views
were, but determining to ponder the matter more deeply by the way,
the advice he propounded in the first instance was, that they should
all repair forthwith to seek the aid of Berndietrich [26].
The counsel was received with joyful acclamation; and loud was the
clanging as every one ran to don his chain-armour, for all were glad
to be called to deeds of high emprise, and such they deemed were in
store for them if Dietrich von Bern was to be their leader.
Ute and her daughters, to whom their courage and mettle was well known,
greeted them as they went forth with no sinking hearts, but gave them
augury of good success.
As they journeyed along, they came to a broad heath, which they were
about to pass over with their train, when up sprang a man of forlorn
aspect, who cried after Hildebrand, and asked his aid.
Hildebrand, seeing him in such sorry plight, turned aside out of
compassion, to ask what had befallen him. It was no other than the
peasant--the widow's son--whom Lareyn had so deeply wronged, and,
seeing the heroes go forth in such brave array, he besought their aid
against the oppressor of his mother. Some of them laughed at his wild
mien and uncouth gestures, but Hildebrand the Sage took him apart,
and lost not a word of his story of how the Norg-king lived in the
heart of the mountains, of how he came out with his mighty little men,
and ravaged all the face of the country, contrary to all the habits of
his former life, and of how it was all because his own labourers were
engaged in preparing the most magnificent palace for the reception
of a daughter of earth, whom he meant to make his bride.
Hildebrand now felt he knew all, and with the help of the poor
countryman, the widow's son, would be able to conduct the heroes
into his retreat, inflict condign punishment, and release the captive
princess.
How, with purely natural means, to overcome the resistless strength
of the Norgs did not indeed make itself apparent; this was matter
for further consideration, and sufficed to engross his thoughts for
the rest of the journey. Of one thing he was satisfied--that he was
right in claiming the intervention of Berndietrich, whose traffic
with the supernatural powers [27] made him, of all the wigands [28],
alone capable of conducting such an expedition.
Hildebrand and his companions were received by Theodoric with hearty
welcome and hospitable care and cheer. As they sat at table, all
the heroes together vied with each other in lauding the prowess of
Theodoric, till they had pronounced him the bravest sword of which
the whole world could boast.
This was the time for Hildebrand. "No!" he cried, as he upsprang,
and by his determined manner arrested the attention of all the
wigands. "No, I say! there is one mightier than he; there is one with
whom he has never yet ventured to measure his strength----"
"Who? Name him!" shouted Theodoric, rising to his feet, and glaring
round him with defiant fury, only kept in check by his regard for
Hildebrand.
"I speak of Lareyn, the Dwarf-king, the dweller in the depths of the
mountains of Tirol," replied Hildebrand, in a voice of firm assurance.
"The Dwarf-king!" exclaimed Theodoric, with incredulity and contempt;
and he sat down again.
"As long as the Dwarf-king is suffered to live in his mountain
stronghold, and to ravage the lands of the peaceful peasants, I call
no man who knows of him a hero. But him who overcomes this little
one--him I will call a hero indeed, above all others!"
"If your Dwarf-king were so formidable, Meister Hildebrand," replied
Theodoric, "you would have told me of him before now, I ween. How
has he raised your wonderment just at this time?"
"Because just at this time his insolence has increased. He has built
a palace surpassing all palaces in magnificence, which he calls his
Krystallburg, and has surrounded it with a garden of beauty, which
he calls his Rosengarten, fenced round only with a silken girdle,
but of whomsoever crosses that boundary he forfeits the left foot
and the right hand."
The report of this boast was enough to decide Theodoric, the impetuous
sword. "If it is thus he vaunts him," he cried, "he shall know that
there is one will dare brave his decree, and destroy the garden his
ferocity guards after the manner you describe."
With that up he rose, and called for his Velsungen [29], for his
armour he never put off, and he called for his helmet and his horse;
and before another had time to frame his purpose, he had started,
without parley and without guide.
Only Wittich the Wigand, his boon companion, who loved to share his
rash ventures, and was familiar with his moods, could bestir himself
to follow before he was too far gone to be overtaken.
To Tirol they rode by day and by night, without slacking rein, for
their anger brooked no reprieve. They slacked not their speed for
dell or mountain, and they rode forty miles through the dense forest;
but every where as they went along they tested the air, as it was
wafted past them, to see if they could discern the perfumes of the
Rosengarten. At last, as they toiled up the mountain side, a majestic
sight was suddenly opened to their view. The white shining rock of the
living mountain was cut and fashioned into every pleasing device of
turret and tower, diamonds and rubies were the windows, and the dome
was of pure gold set with precious stones. "We have far to ride yet,"
said Wittich the Wigand, as he scanned the lordly place. "And yet the
perfume of the Rose-garden reaches even hither," said the Bernäre
[30]. "Then we know we are on the right track," answered Wittich;
so they put spurs to their horses, and rode forward with good heart.
They had pushed on thus many a mile when the blooming Rosengarten
itself came in sight, entrancing their senses with its beauty and
its odours.
"What was that?" asked Theodoric, who always rode ahead, as some
light obstruction made his mount swerve for a moment.
"Why, you have burst the silken girdle of King Lareyn's
Rosengarten!" said Wittich the Wigand; "so now we have incurred the
vengeance of the little man."
"Ah!" said Theodoric, as he gazed around, "let us not harm this
pleasant place; sweetly are the flowers disposed, and in the fragrant
hours of evening and of morning it must be well to be here: let us
destroy naught!"
"Nay!" said honest Wittich, "came we not forth to destroy this
devil's-work, and to reduce the pride of the boasting Norg-king who
spares none? Shall we return, and leave our work undone? I have no
such mind; nothing will I leave of what we see before us now."
He dismounted to carry his threat into effect; and Theodoric, not
to be behindhand, or to incur suspicion of fearing the Norg-king,
dismounted too. Then with one consent they hewed down and rooted up
the fair plants, till the whole garden was a wilderness, and they
lay them down upon the grass to rest.
As they lay, there appeared before them, coming at full speed,
as on swift wings, a knightly form clad in shining armour, so that
Wittich cried, "See, Lord Dietrich, who comes to visit us--surely it
is St. Michael, leader of the heavenly hosts!"
"I see no St. Michael," answered Theodoric, sullenly. "It is one of
no heavenly build, albeit he bears him so bravely. We may rue that
we have loosed our helmets and shields, for methinks he regards us
with no loving eye."
While they spoke the rider had advanced over a good space of the
way, and they could discern the manner of his bearing. His horse
was lithe as a roe-buck upon the wild mountain heights, and its
housings of cloth-of-gold gave back the rays of the golden sun; the
bridle was studded with precious stones, and embroidered with cunning
workmanship of gold, moreover it was held in a commanding hand. The
saddle was dazzling with rubies, and so were the stirrups no less;
but the armour was most dazzling of all, and all hardened in dragon's
blood [31]. His sword of adamant could cut through steel and gold;
the handle was one carbuncle, which darted rays of light. Over his
breast-armour he wore a tight tunic of cloth-of-gold, with his arms
embroidered in glowing colours. His helmet was of burnished gold and
topazes mingling their yellow light, and between them many a carbuncle
which by night gave the light of day, and from within it there sang
pleasant voices of birds--nightingales, bulfinches, and larks, with
softened voices, as if they lived, and breathed their song upon the
branches of their native trees.
His shield was likewise of gold, and recorded many a deed of prowess
of him who bore it; on it was painted a leopard, too, with head erect,
as though preparing to spring upon his prey. In his right hand was a
spear, and from its point floated a small red banner [32], on which
appeared two swift greyhounds intent on following the wild game. But
more imposing than all this display of gold and art was the rider's
majestic mien, which was as of one used to know no law but his own
will, and to be obeyed by all who approached him; and yet, with all
this, he was only a span high! For it was King Lareyn, and he wore
tightly buckled his girdle of twelve-men's-strength.
Theodoric would gladly have laughed his little figure to scorn, but
when he caught the fire of his eye he was fain to acknowledge he was
no puny antagonist in fierce intention, whatever was his height.
Nor did Lareyn spare angry words when he had come up with the knights,
and saw what they had done; there was no epithet of scorn in his
vocabulary that he did not pour out upon them. He told them their
lives were forfeit for the mischief they had wreaked upon his roses,
and they could only redeem them by the surrender of their left foot
and right hand.
Theodoric was not slow to pay back his vituperation in corresponding
measure. He bid him remember what a little, wee mannikin he was; that
his was not the right tone in which he ought to talk to princes. Had
he ventured to ask a money-compensation, it would have been impertinent
enough, but what he had asked was a ludicrous pretention.
"Money!" shouted the Norg, in no way disconcerted; "I have more gold at
command than any three of you together. You call yourselves princes,
do you? You have done no princely deed to-day; you have incurred
the common penalty which I have decreed for all alike who trespass
on my Rose-garden--so no more words: hand over your horses, armour,
and clothing [33], together with the left foot and right hand of each."
"Herr Dietrich!" interposed Wittich, "is it possible you have patience
to listen to the insolent railing which this little mite pours out
in his folly? Say but the word, and I will punish him once and for
all. It needs but to take him and his mount by the leg, with one
grasp of my strong hand, and knock their heads against the stone wall,
that they may lie as dead as the roses we have already strewn around!"
"God is exhaustless in His wonders!" replied the Bernäre; "for aught
we know, He has laid up within this mite's body all the strength of
which he is so forward to boast: or by some magic craft he may have
possessed himself of might commensurate with the riches which we can
see plainly enough he has at command. If it comes to fighting, we
will bear ourselves like men; but take my advice, and be not rash,
for very much I doubt if we shall leave these mountains of Tirol
alive this day."
"Now, prince of lineage high! if I knew not your prowess before this
day," cried Wittich, beside himself with indignation, "I had said you
were afraid of his sword, which a mouse might wield! Shall a Christian
knight shrink before any pagan hound? But a thousand such wights as
this could be overmatched by you; and without arms you could smite
them down, and hang them all on the trees!"
"Your ideas of your powers are not weak," interposed King Lareyn; "you
talk of one of you being a match for a thousand such as I: come on,
and let us see how you will bear you against one 'tiny antagonist'!"
Wittich's impatience knew no bounds at the challenge; without
exchanging another word with Theodoric he sprang into the saddle, and
Lareyn, who had chafed at being spoken of as an unworthy adversary,
now drew himself up, proud to find Wittich did not scorn to meet
him mounted.
They rode out opposite each other on the greensward with their lances
poised, and then dashed the one at the other like two falcons on
the wing. Wittich, not at all wanting in the science of handling his
lance, made sure to have hit Lareyn, but the spell that surrounded
him protected him against the thrust, while his lance struck Wittich's
throat where the helm was braced, and sent him backwards off the saddle
on to the ground with great force. As he fell among the clover he vowed
that no other lance had ever so offended him, for never before had
victory appeared so easy. Hastily he sprang to his feet, to wipe away
the shame by seeming indifference; but Lareyn stood before him in the
long grass with his sword ready to take the forfeit he demanded, the
left foot and the right hand,--and would have taken it, but Theodoric
deemed it time to interfere; he said he should have reckoned it a
shame on him could it have been said of him that he had stood by while
a companion was made to pay so hard a penalty for so small a harm.
"What is a shame to you is no affair of mine," cried Lareyn in return;
"but instead of defending your companion, it behoves you to defend
yourself, for, as you had your part in the destruction of the garden,
I demand my forfeit equally of you, and your left foot and right hand
I must have. Stand on guard then! for I am a match for twelve such
as you."
The words stung Theodoric to the quick. But with what celerity soever
he vaulted into the saddle, the moment had sufficed for Lareyn to
bind fast Wittich to a tree, and gain his stirrups in time to confront
his foe.
"I perceive you are the Bernäre," he said, "by your shield and helm;
and never have I poised lance so gladly against any foe, and never
have had such satisfaction in triumph as I shall when I have you bound
by the side of your companion, and when the great Dietrich von Bern
shall lie in the bonds of the little Norg!"
"Dwarf! waste not words," cried Theodoric, in a terrible voice, his
eyes flashing fire; his spear trembling in his hand with the fury that
burnt within him. Before the foes could meet, however, and not a whit
too soon, Hildebrand appeared upon the scene, having found his way,
with the bold Wolfhart who never shrank from any fight, and Dietlieb
the Steieräre [34], by the guidance of the injured widow's son.
Hastily Hildebrand reached Theodoric's ear: "Fight him not in that
way," he said; "he has ever the advantage with the lance, and if he
hurled you from the saddle, where would be your princely honour? Never
could you again reign in your Hall of Verona. Dismount, and meet him
on foot upon the grass, and watch for what further may be suggested
to us."
Theodoric gladly accepted the counsel of the sage, and, standing
once more on the ground, called to the Norg to meet him there. Lareyn
refused not, but met him with many a valiant thrust, which the wigand
parried, and returned too, as best he might, with Hildebrand's counsel,
till the little man complained of the interference, without which,
he swore, Dietrich had been bound even as Wittich. But Theodoric bid
him not talk, but fight, and with that planted him a blow between
the eyes which shut out the light of the sun. Hildebrand, meantime,
released Wittich, as it behoved while one fought in his defence. But
Lareyn, finding he could gain no signal advantage against the hero,
drew his Tarnhaut from his pocket, and, slipping it over his head,
became invisible to his antagonist. Now it was a weird running
hither and thither, as the deft Norg paid out his cunning blows,
and the bold wigand in vain sought him, that he might return them;
now his blow fell on the stone wall, and now on a tree, while the
Norg's mocking laughter echoed at each mistake.
"One counsel only I see," cried good Hildebrand, distressed to see
his prince so hard thrust; "call to him to drop his sword, and wrestle
with you; so shall you reach him, and at least know where he stands."
The hero followed the counsel of his master, nor did the Norg
refuse. True, Theodoric now could at least feel his unseen foe, but
he felt him to his cost, for it was impossible to stand against his
strength, nor was it long before the dwarf forced the hero down upon
his knees on the grass. Great was the wigand's distress, for never
had antagonist so dealt with him before.
"Dietrich! beloved lord," cried Hildebrand, "list to my word. One
way of safety there is: wrench from him his girdle--his girdle which
gives him twelve men's strength!"
Gladly Theodoric heard the counsel, nor was he long in finding with
his hand the girdle; by it he raised King Lareyn from the ground,
and dashed him down again, till the girdle burst and fell beneath
their feet. Hildebrand quickly caught it up, lest the dwarf should
again possess himself of it; but Lareyn gave a cry of despair which
might have been heard o'er mountain and forest three days' journey
off! Then, with doleful voice, he said,--
"Dietrich von Bern! if you are the noble sword for which men hold you,
you will be now content, and will give me my life; while I will be
your tributary, and mighty are the gifts I have to offer you."
"No!" replied Theodoric; "your haughtiness and pretensions have been
too gross. I pardon not such as you so easily; we must have another
trial, in which you must yield up your worthless life."
"I have no power in fighting against such as he now, without my
girdle," mused the Norg; "my only chance of safety lies in getting
one of the heroes who is equal to him to fight for my cause in my
place. So he made up to Dietlieb the Steieräre, and conjured him,
as he was his brother-in-law, to help him in his need--even as he
loved his sister's honour."
"True!" replied Dietlieb; "since you confess honestly that you have my
sister, it is meet that I should be your champion; and I will deliver
you or die." With that he went to Theodoric, and prayed him earnestly
four times, by his regard for knightly honour, for woman's worth, for
friendship, and for virtue--four things which, at receiving his sword,
every knight bound himself to honour, that he would spare Lareyn. But
Theodoric was not to be moved, and each time only swore the harder
that he would fight it out to the last; that Lareyn had offended him
too deeply, and that he could not be suffered to live. When Dietlieb
found the ambassage he had undertaken unsuccessful, and that he would
have to own his failure, he grew impatient and wroth, and riding his
horse up to Theodoric, he proclaimed in a loud voice,--
"Be it known, Prince Dietrich, highly praised, that I declare King
Lareyn, great in power and riches, shall not be bound your prisoner,
nor his life taken; that I appear here to answer for him with brotherly
service, and that either he shall be let go scot free, or in my person
only shall the death-blow be dealt out for him."
Theodoric, unwilling to enter a feud of life and death with one of
his own allies, and yet too proud to refuse the challenge, answered
him nothing. But Dietlieb took the Norg and hid him away in safety
in the long grass out of Theodoric's sight, and then returned ready
to confront him. Theodoric, finding he was determined in his attack,
called for his horse, and bound on his helmet, his shield he took in
his hand, and hung his sword to his girdle.
"Think not I spare you more than another, Lord Theodoric, when I have
found the cause I ought to defend," cried Dietlieb, and his flashing
eye told that he would fight his fight to the end.
Theodoric still said no word, but his anger was the more desperate.
Thus minded, they rode at each other, and the lance of each hurled the
other from his horse upon the grass. Up each sprang again, and drew
his trenchant sword; the one struck, and the other pierced, till the
grass all around, as high as their spurs, was dyed as red as the roses
they had destroyed anon. Then Theodoric dealt such a mighty stroke
on Dietlieb's helmet that the fire flashed again, and he thought,
"Now have I conquered him and Lareyn at one blow." But Dietlieb,
recovering from the momentary shock, struck Theodoric's shield with
such force that he dashed it from his grasp; you might have heard
the clash a mile off!
When the bold Theodoric found he had his shield no longer, he took his
sword in both his hands, and gave the wigand such a mighty Schirmschlag
[35] that he felled him to the ground.
"Now then, foolish man!" he cried, in scorn, "do you still hold out
for Lareyn?"
Dietlieb sprang to his feet once more with a start which made his
armour ring again, and, for an answer, ran at Theodoric, and tried to
repeat his stroke; but Theodoric was more difficult to bring down,
and answered his attack by striking him on the rim of his shield so
forcibly that he loosed the band by which he held it.
Meantime, Hildebrand had been occupied stirring up the other wigands
to part the combatants, and at this moment Wittich and Wolfhart came
up to Dietlieb and seized him, and with main force dragged him off
the field; while Hildebrand reasoned with Theodoric about the merit
and friendship of Dietlieb, and the advantage of compromise now that
he had done enough to prove his superiority in the fight. Theodoric,
who ever gave weight to Hildebrand's reasoning, agreed to be friends
again with Dietlieb, and to leave Lareyn his life and liberty, only
exacting homage and tribute of him. To these terms Dietlieb also
agreed, and all entered the bonds of good friendship.
Lareyn, who had watched the combat and listened to the treaty of
peace from his hiding-place in the long grass, gave in his adhesion,
promising to pay tribute of all his wealth.
"And now, good brother-in-law," he said, addressing Dietlieb, "or
brother-in-law that-is-to-be,--for Simild has not yet given her consent
to be my wife--let us talk a little about your lovely sister. You
are doubtless burning to know how I became possessed of her, and I
no less to tell." Then he told him how he had found her under the
linden-tree, and had enveloped her in the Tarnhaut and carried her
away unseen by mortal eye; and of how all Norgdom was subject to her,
of how he had laid an empire of boundless wealth at her feet, and how,
if she preferred reigning on earth, he was able to buy a vast kingdom
to endow her with. Then he noticed that the day was declining, and they
far from shelter, and bade them all welcome to his underground home,
promising them good cheer and merry pastime. Dietlieb, anxious to
see his dear sister again, accepted the offer, and the other wigands
agreed to follow him. Stern Hildebrand the Sage would have preferred
camping in the open air, but Theodoric told him it would be a shame on
his name before all heroes if, having been so near the Norg kingdom,
of which all had heard, he should have feared to make acquaintance
with its economy and government. All the others were of his mind, but
Hildebrand reminded Theodoric, that as he whom all were ready to obey
had counselled incurring the danger, he made himself responsible for
all their lives. "He who gave us prudence will guard our lives and
honour," said the prince; and without further parley they rode on,
after Lareyn's guidance.
On they rode, through thick forest and narrow mountain-path, till,
as it grew dark, they came to a golden door in the rock. It opened at
Lareyn's approach, and the moment they had passed within they found
themselves surrounded by a light above the light of day from the
shining stones that glittered around. Trumpets sounded to herald their
entrance. As they advanced through the sparkling trees friendly birds
warbled a sweet welcome; and as they neared the hall soft melodies
of lutes and harps enchanted their ear. All around them the Norgs
disported themselves, ready to render any service the wayfarers might
require. Refreshment was all ready, as if they had been expected;
and when the wigands had done justice to the spread, they were led
each to his apartment to take their rest, which they well needed.
In the morning Lareyn prayed them to stay and enjoy the wonders
of his kingdom and taste his hospitality, whereupon new debate
arose. Theodoric was disposed to trust him; and Dietlieb desirous
to keep friends with him for the sake of his sister; while Wolfhart
was ready for any sort of adventure; but Wittich, who had tasted the
effects of Lareyn's guile and strength, used all his persuasion to
induce the others to return, and prudent Hildebrand deemed it the
wiser part. At last, however, Wolfhart said, scornfully to Wittich,
that if he was afraid to stay he could go back; he had no need to
spoil their pleasure. After that Wittich said no more, but by his
sullen looks he showed he disapproved the venture.
Lareyn, seeing them doubtful, came up, and with much concern bid them
have no hesitation or fear, for all they saw was at their service--they
had but to command. To which Theodoric made answer that such words
were princely indeed, and if his deeds accorded therewith he never
would have reason to rue the league he had made with them.
Then with delight Lareyn led them through the riches of his
possessions. So much heaped-up gold, so many precious stones, such
elaborate handiwork none of Theodoric's band had ever seen before;
and the place rang with their exclamations of wonder.
But all this was nothing to the cunning feats of the Norgs, who,
at a sign from Lareyn, displayed their various talents before the
astonished eyes of the heroes. Some there were who lifted great stones
bigger than themselves, and threw them as far as the eye could reach,
then by swiftness attained the goal before the stone they threw! Others
rooted up great pine-trees, and broke them across as sticks. Others
did feats of tilting and horsemanship, and others danced and leapt
till the knights were lost in wonder at their agility and strength.
Lareyn now called his guests in to dine; and all manner of costly
dishes were set before them, arranged with greater care and taste
than Theodoric was used to in his own palace, while sweet-voiced
minstrels sang, and nimble Norgs danced. In the midst of the repast,
Simild, summoned by Lareyn, entered the hall, attended by a train of
five hundred choicely-robed Norginnen; her own attire a very wonder
of art. It was all of silk and down, and set off with ornaments of
jewellery beyond compare with any on earth; stones there were of value
enough to ransom three kingdoms; and in her coronet one which lighted
up the hall with its radiance--meet crown of her own loveliness! At
Lareyn's courteously worded request she gave all the guests a joyful
welcome, with a word of praise from her rosy lips for each, for their
fame of knightly deeds. But when she saw Dietlieb her joy knew no
bounds; they embraced each other with the heartfelt joy of those who
have been long and cruelly separated.
"Tell me, sister mine," said Dietlieb, anxiously turning to account
the brief opportunity her embrace gave him of whispering into her ear,
"is it of your own will that you are here, in this strange mountain
dwelling? is this Lareyn dear to you? and do you desire to dwell with
him? Or has his artifice been hateful to you? Say, shall I rid you
of his presence?"
"Brother, it is your help I need to decide this thing," replied the
maid. "Against Lareyn's mildness I have no word to say: gift upon gift
has been heaped upon me; with honour after honour have I been endowed;
and every wish of mine is fulfilled ere it is born. But when I think
of Him of whom all our pleasures are the bounty, I feel no pleasure in
pleasures so bestowed. This pagan folk holds Christ, our dear Lord, in
hate--and when I think of Him, I long to be again in Christendom [36]."
"Yes, Simild, sister dear, in Christendom is your place, not here; and
since such is your mind, cost what it will, I will set you free from
the Norg-king's power," was Dietlieb's answer; and there was no time
for more, for Lareyn called them back to the fresh-dressed banquet.
"Come, new allies but trusted friends!" cried the dwarf, "come, and
let us be merry, and pledge our troth in the ruby bowl! Lay aside
your heavy arms and armour, your sword and shield. Let us be light
and free as brothers together."
As he spoke a whole host of waiting-men appeared, who helped the
knights off with their armour, and brought them robes of rich stuffs
and costly work. The guests suffered them to do their will, for
they were lost in admiration at the choice banquet; at the table,
all of ivory inlaid with devices of birds and game so lifelike they
seemed to skim across the board; at the vessels of silver and gold
and crystal of untiring variety of design; and, above all, at the
order and harmony with which all was directed.
Cool wine from cellars under earth was now served round [37]; then
various dishes in constant succession, each rarer than the last;
and then again sounded soft, clear voices to the accompaniment of the
harmonious strings. And again and again the tankards were filled up
with Lautertrank, Moras [38], and wine.
At last the tables were drawn away, and at the same time Simild and
her maids withdrew; but many an hour more the guests sat while the
music and the singing continued to charm them. But lest even this
should weary, King Lareyn, as if determined there should be no end
to the change of pastimes with which he had undertaken to amuse his
guests, sent to fetch a certain conjuror who dwelt in the heart of a
high mountain, and whose arts surpassed any thing that had been done
before. The magician came at his bidding, and exhibited surprising
evidences of his craft, till at last the king said,--
"You are a cunning man, no doubt, but there is one exhibition of
your power you have never been able to give me, and I shall think
nothing of your art till you can satisfy me. In this country within
the mountains, these jewels fixed in vault, wall, and sky, weary one
with their perpetual glare. Make them to move as the luminaries of
earth, so that we may have calm, peaceful night for repose."
"True, O king! I have never before been able to accomplish this
desire," replied the magician; "but now I have acquired this art
also, and waited for a fitting occasion to make the first display of
the same."
"No occasion can be more fitting than the present," answered Lareyn,
"when by its inauguration you shall celebrate the visit of my honoured
guests, and also by its achievement afford them that rest from the
glare of day to which they are accustomed in their own nights."
"I desire but to obey," replied the magician; and forthwith he threw on
to the fire that burnt on a black stone before him, a powder which no
sooner touched the flame than a pale blue smoke arose with pleasing
scent, and, curling through the hall, presently extinguished the
brilliant shining of every countless jewel with which the walls and
roof were set.
"Now, if you are master of your art," continued the king, "let us
have light once more."
The magician, wrapt in his incantation, spoke not, but dropped another
powder on the flame, which at once sent up a wreathing fume of rainbow
hues, carrying back to every precious stone its lustre.
"Wondrous!" "Brave artist!" "Wondrous show indeed!" were the
exclamations which broke spontaneously from every lip.
"Now let it be dark again," said the king; and the magician quenched
the sparkling light as before.
"Now light," he cried; and so alternated until the sight was no longer
new. Now, it was dark, and this time Lareyn called no more for light,
nor spoke, and the silence was long; till the heroes grew anxious, and
Wittich turned to where Wolfhart had sat, and said, "I like not this:
who knows but that while we can see naught the Norgs may fall upon us
and destroy us?" But Wolfhart answered not, for a stupor had fallen
upon him that the fumes had been gifted to convey; and Wittich, too,
felt their influence before he could utter another word; so it was
with Hildebrand the Sage no less. Theodoric only had time to answer,
"Such treachery were not princely; and if Lareyn means harm to us,
he may be sure he will rue this day," and then sleep fell upon him
as on the others.
Dietlieb had already left the hall, thinking under cover of the
darkness to find his sister, but being met by a page had been conducted
to his apartment, and knew nothing of what had befallen the others.
Lareyn, meanwhile, sought out Simild in anxious mood. "Ever lovely
virgin!" he exclaimed, "support me with your prudent counsel in this
strait. I have already told you how your people have avenged on me
that I have loved you; how they have laid low my silken fence and
golden gates, and wasted my choice garden of roses. Good reprisals
I had thought to have taken, and had I been left man to man against
them I had overcome them all; but Hildebrand the Sage interposed
his advice: it was thus the Bernäre had the advantage over me, and
had it not been for your brother Dietlieb's stout defence, he had
even taken my life. But in all the other four beside him there is no
good, and in one way or another I had found means to rid me of them,
but for Dietlieb's sake, who would be as ready to oppose me in their
defence as he opposed Dietrich in mine. So, fair lady mine, say how
shall I end this affair?"
"If you would follow my advice," replied Simild, "be not rash;
and, above all, use no treachery; keep to the pact of peace that
you have sworn; and be sure the Christian knights will not go back
from their plighted word. But in place of the little girdle of
twelve-men's-strength that they took from you, here is a ring of
equal power which your seven magicians welded for me: with that you
will feel all your old consciousness of strength and dignity. But,
by all you hold dear, let the wigands go forth with honour!"
Lareyn was not slow to own that the counsel was good, and spoke as
if he would have followed it. But when he put on the ring, and found
himself endowed once more with twelve men's strength, he could not
forbear taking his sweet revenge for his yesterday's defeat and danger.
First, he had sevenfold bolts put on Dietlieb's door, that he might
not be able to come forth and aid his brethren; and then he sent
and called for one of the giants, who were always true allies to the
dwarfs, and entreated him to carry the heroes to a deep dungeon below
the roots of the mountains, where they should be bound, and shut out
from the light of day, and never again be able to do him harm.
The feat pleased the giant well; and, having bound a cord round the
waist of each of the sleeping heroes, slung the four over his shoulder
as if they had been no heavier than sparrows, and carried them to the
dungeon below the roots of the mountains, whither Lareyn led the way,
now skipping, now dancing, now singing, now laughing in high glee,
to think how well he had succeeded in ridding him of his foes--but
forgetting all about Simild's advice, and his promise to her.
It was not till next morning that the heroes woke; and then all was
cold and dark around them, and they knew they were no longer in the
hall of the banquet, for the iron chains and stanchions, the chill,
and must, and damp, and slime, told them they were in a dungeon
under earth.
Loudly they all exclaimed against the deceit with which they had
been caught, and loudly they all swore to find means to punish the
treacherous captor. But Theodoric's anger was greater than the anger
of them all; and the fiery breath [39] glowed so hot within him that
it scorched away the bonds with which he was bound!
Once more, then, his hands at least were free, and his companions
gave him joy; but his feet were still held to the rock by chains
of hard steel, the links as thick as a man's arm. Nevertheless, his
indignation was so great that when he beat them with his fists they
were obliged to yield, as they had been made of egg-shell; and when he
had broken his own chains he set to work and released the others also.
Great was their joy and thankfulness; but heaviness came down on them
again when they saw themselves closed in by the cruel rock, and all
their armour and weapons of defence locked up far away from them in
the Norg's castle. Another day they lay there in despair, and another,
for wise Hildebrand saw no way of passing through the rock [40].
Meantime Simild had grown uneasy at the silence that reigned in
the palace; there was no more sound of revel and festivity, and of
entertaining guests. She was no more sent for to entertain them, and
Lareyn hid himself from her, and avoided her. In dire fear she hunted
out the right key of her brother's apartment, and having covered
the glowing carbuncle in her coronet, which lighted up every place,
crept along silently till she had reached him.
"Sister mine!" exclaimed Dietlieb, "what does this mean? why am I
held fast by seven locks? and why do no tidings of my companions
reach me? Oh! had I but my sword and shield, I would release them
from the hands of Lareyn, and of how many Norgs soever he may have
at his command! or at least I would not survive to bear the shame of
living while they are in I know not what plight."
"Dietlieb, be guided by me," replied the maiden: "we must deliver them
out of the dire dungeon in which Lareyn has treacherously confined
them, but also we must have your life and honour safe. Take this ring
upon your hand, for against him who wears it none can prevail; and
then go and deliver your companions." With that she took him along
to where his armour lay concealed; and having girt him with it, she
said many a fervent blessing [41] over him, to preserve him from harm.
Endowed with the strength the ring gave him, Dietlieb was able to
load himself with the arms and armour of all the four heroes; and at
its command a way was made in the rock, through which he passed it in
to them. As each piece fell upon the hard floor, the clang re-echoed
through the far-off mountains.
Lareyn heard the noise, and knew what had befallen, so he sounded on
his horn the note that was known far and wide through all the lands
of the Norgs; and at the call three hundred thousand dwarfs appeared
swarming over the whole face of the country.
"To me, my men! to me!" cried Lareyn, as they drew near. "Before you
stands he who has essayed to release our enemies whom I and the giant
had bound under the roots of the mountains. He has given them back
their strong armour and their weapons of war, and if they get loose
and come among us, great havoc will they make of us, therefore smite
him down and destroy him!"
The dwarfs rushed on Dietlieb at the bidding of the king; but
Lareyn would not engage him himself, because he had fought for his
release. Dietlieb, young and strong, stood planted against a vault
of the rock, and as the mannikins approached him, he showered his
blows upon them, and sent them sprawling, till the dead and mangled
were piled up knee-deep around him.
The heroes heard the sound of the battle in their prison, and they
longed to take their part in the fray; but they saw no means of
breaking through the rock to reach him, till Hildebrand bethought him
that he had yet with him the girdle he had picked up when Theodoric
tore it from the Norg-king's body. This he now handed to the hero.
Theodoric took it, and spoke not for joy, but with its strength tore
down the living rock round the opening Dietlieb's ring had made,
and burst his way to stand beside the brave young Steieräre. This
done, scorning the girdle's strength, he cast it back to Hildebrand,
trusting in his good sword alone.
"Now, treacherous dwarf, come on!" he cried. "No knightly troth has
bound you, but against us, your guests and allies, you have acted
as one who has no right to live! Come here, and let me give you the
guerdon you have earned!"
Lareyn refused not; and the two fought with fury terrible to
behold. And yet Theodoric prevailed not. Then Hildebrand discerned
the ring of twelve-men's-strength on Lareyn's hand, where it was
not before, and knew it was a talisman, so he called to Theodoric,
and said,--
"Dietrich, my prince, seize yonder ring upon the Norg-king's hand! so
shall his strength be no more increased by the powers of his magic."
Theodoric, ever prone to be guided by the advice of the Sage, directed
a mighty blow upon the ring, so that the hoop must fain give way;
and the dwarf's power went from him.
"Now all your hosts, and all your arts, and all your gold shall profit
you nothing more!" So cried the Bernäre; "but condign penalties you
must suffer for your crime. My prisoner you are, nor is there any
can deliver you more."
The Norgs, grieving for their king's loss, trooped round Theodoric
and attacked him on every side; but he swang his good sword Velsungen
around, and at every sweep a hundred Norg's heads fell pattering at
his feet. Suddenly a little dwarf came running out from the mountain
rock, and seizing Lareyn's horn, blew on it notes which wandered wild
through all the forest-trees.
Five giants lived in the forest, and when they heard those notes they
knew the Norgs were in dire distress. With swift strides they came;
their helmets flashed like lightning over the tops of the pines;
and each brought his sword and pike of trenchant steel. The little
dwarf saw his brethren mown down like grass before the scythe,
and again sent forth his far-sounding notes of distress. The giants
heard it, and marched over hill and dale, till they came before the
mountain-side. Again the little dwarf sent out his appeal, and the
giants burst their way through the mountain; but albeit they came
with such speed, twelve thousand Norgs were meantime lost to King
Lareyn by Velsungen's strokes.
Dietlieb and Hildebrand, Wittich and Wolfhart mowed down their
harvest too.
Now they had to prepare for another kind of attack, for in fearful
array the five giants came down upon them, brandishing their clubs of
steel. But neither could these stand before the swords of the heroes,
and each several one laid low his adversary.
When the Norgs saw that their king was bound, and their best
fighting-men destroyed, and the giants themselves without breath,
they knew they could stand no longer before the wigands, but each
turned him and fled for refuge to the mountains.
The heroes then, seeing no more left to slay, went into the
banquet-hall, where only Simild stood, for all the Norgs had hidden
themselves in fear.
"Welcome, noble brother! and welcome, bold swords all!" cried the maid;
"you have delivered us from this treacherous king. Now you will go
home to your own land with glory and honour, and take me with you."
The heroes returned her greeting, and rejoiced in her praise; then
they piled up the treasure on to waggons, all they could carry, and
in triumph they made their way to earth, and Lareyn with them, bound.
First they directed their steps to Styria, till they came to the
spreading linden-tree whence Simild had first been taken; for there
sat Duke Biterolf, her father, bewailing his bereavement, and around
him trooped her maidens lamenting their companion.
All was restored to joy and gladness now that Simild was at home
again. They passed seven days in high festival, the heroes all
together; and many a time they had to tell the tale of their bold
deeds, and the wonders of the mountain-world. And the minstrels sang
to the merits of the conquerors, while the merry bowl passed round
and round.
At last Theodoric rose and thanked Biterolf for his hospitality,
who thanked him in return right heartily for the help he had lent
his son. With that Theodoric took his leave, and along with him went
Hildebrand the Sage, and Wittich the Wigand, and the strong Wolfhart,
and King Lareyn too, of whom Theodoric made his court-fool in his
palace at Verona.
THE NICKEL [42] OF THE RÖHRERBÜCHEL.
From the fourteenth to the sixteenth, in some few places down
to the seventeenth, centuries the mountains of Tirol were in many
localities profitably worked in the search after the precious metals;
many families were enriched; and the skill of the Tirolese miners
passed into a proverb throughout Europe. When the veins lying near the
surface had been worked out, the difficulty of bringing the machinery
required for deeper workings into use, in a country whose soil has
nowhere three square miles of plain, rendered the further pursuit so
expensive that it was in great measure abandoned, though some iron and
copper is still got out. There are many old shafts entirely deserted,
and their long and intricate passages into the bowels of the earth
not only afford curious places of excursion to the tourist, but are
replete with fantastic memories of their earlier destination.
One of the most remarkable of these is the so-called Röhrerbüchel,
which is situated between Kitzbühl and St. Johann, and not far from
the latter place. It was one of the most productive and one of the
latest worked, and it boasted of having the deepest shaft that had
ever been sunk in Europe; but for above a hundred and fifty years it
has been taub [43], that is, deaf, to the sound of the pick and the
hammer and the voices of the Knappen [44].
I have given you my way of accounting for the cessation of the
mining-works. The people have another explanation. They say that the
Bergmännlein, or little men of the mountains--the dwarfs who were the
presiding guardians of these mineral treasures--were so disgusted
with the avarice with which the people seized upon their stores,
that they refused to lend them their help any more, and that without
their guidance the miners were no longer able to carry on their search
aright, and the gnomes took themselves off to other countries.
One of these little men of the mountains, however, there was in
the Röhrerbüchle who loved his ancient house too well to go forth
to seek another; he still lingered about the mile-long clefts and
passages which once had been rich with ore, and often the peasants
heard him bewailing, and singing melancholy ditties, over his lonely
fate. They even thought he came out sometimes to watch them sadly
in their companionship of labour, and peeped through their windows
at them in their cosy cottages, while it was cold and dark where he
stood without: and many there were who took an interest in the Nickel
of the Röhrerbüchel.
The Goigner Jössl [45] had been mowing the grassy slope near the
opening of the Röhrerbüchl; he was just putting up his implements to
carry home after his day's toil, when he espied the orphan Aennerl
[46] coming towards him. Her dark eyes had met his before that day,
and he never met her glance without a thrill of joy.
"I have been over to Oberndorf for a day's work," said orphan Aennerl,
"and as I came back I thought I would turn aside this way, and see
how you were getting on; and then we can go home together."
"So we will," answered Jössl; "but we're both tired, and the sun
isn't gone yet--let's sit down and have a bit of talk before we go."
Orphan Aennerl was nothing loath; and they sat and talked of the
events of the day, and their companions, and their work, and the
weather, and the prospects of the morrow. But both seemed to feel
there was something else to be said, and they sat on, as not knowing
how to begin.
At last Jössl removed his pointed hat from his head and laid it by his
side, and took out and replaced the jaunty feathers which testified
his prowess in the holiday sport [47], and finally cleared his throat
to say, softly,--
"Is this not happiness, Aennerl?--what can we want more in this
world? True, we work hard all day, but is not our toil repaid when
we sit together thus, while the warm evening sun shines round us,
and the blue heaven above and the green fields below smile on us,
and we are together? Aennerl, shall we not be always happy together?"
They were the very words that orphan Aennerl had so often longed to
hear her Jössl say. Something like them she had repeated to herself
again and again, and wondered if the happy day would ever come when
she should hear them from his own lips. Had he said them to her any day
of her whole life before, how warmly would she have responded to them!
To-day, however, it was different. The rich peasant's wife for whom
the poor orphan worked had been harsh to her that day, and for the
first time envious thoughts had found entrance into her mind, and
discontent at her lowly lot.
So, instead of assenting warmly, she only said,--
"Of course it's very nice, Jössl, but then it's only for a little
bit, you see. The hard toil lasts all day, nevertheless. Now to have
a Hof [48] of one's own, like the one I work upon at Oberndorf, with
plenty of cattle, and corn, and servants to work for you, that's what
I should call being happy! Sitting together in the sunset is all very
well, but we might have that besides."
The good, hard-working, thrifty, God-fearing Jössl looked aghast to
hear his Aennerl speak so. Beyond his day's wage honestly worked for,
and the feather in his Trutzhut bravely contended for, and his beloved
Aennerl wooed with tenderness and constancy--he had not a thought or
a wish in the wide world. Hitherto her views had been the counterpart
of his; now, for the first time, he perceived there was something
had come between them, and he felt disappointed and estranged.
"If that's your view, Aennerl girl, it isn't the Goigner Jössl that
will be able to make you happy," replied the youth at length, coldly;
"your best chance would be with the Nickel of the Röhrerbüchel," he
added, almost bitterly, as one who would say, Your case is desperate;
you have no chance at all.
"What was that?" said Aennerl, suddenly starting. "Who can be working
so late? Don't you hear a pick go 'click, clack'? Who can it be?"
"No one is working at this hour," replied Jössl, in no mood to be
pleased at the interruption. But as he spoke the bells of the villages
around toned forth the Ave-Maria. Both folded their hands devoutly
for the evening prayer; and in the still silence that ensued he could
not deny that he heard the sound of the pick vigorously at work,
and that, as it seemed, under the ground directly beneath their feet.
"It is the Bergmännlein--it must be the Bergmännlein
himself!" exclaimed Aennerl, with excitement.
"Nonsense! what silly tales are you thinking of?" replied Jössl,
inwardly reproaching himself for the light words he had just spoken
suggesting the invocation of a superstition with which his honest,
devout nature felt no sympathy; and, without letting the excited girl
exert herself to catch the strange sounds further, he led her home.
Aennerl's curiosity was roused, however, and was not to be so easily
laid to rest.
The next evening Jössl's work lay in a different direction, but no
sooner had the hour of the evening rest arrived than he started on the
road to Oberndorf, to see if he could meet his Aennerl coming home. But
there was no Aennerl on the path; and he turned homewards with a heavy
heart, fearing lest he had offended her, and that she was shunning him.
But Aennerl, whom the desire of being rich had overcome with all the
force of a new passion, had been more absorbed on that last memorable
evening by the idea of having heard the Bergmännlein at work amid the
riches of the mines than with--what would have been so terrible a grief
at any other time--having offended her faithful Jössl. Accordingly,
on the next evening, instead of being on the look-out for Jössl to
walk home with her, her one thought had been to find out the same
place on the bank where they had sat--not with loving affection to
recall the happy words she had heard there, but to listen for the
sound of the Bergmännl's axe, and perhaps follow it out; and then--and
then--who could tell what might befall? Perhaps she might be able to
obtain some chips of those vast wealth-stores unperceived; perhaps
the Bergmännl's heart might be opened to her--who could say but,
in some mode or other, it might be the way to fortune?
She was not long in tracing out the spot, for she had marked the angle
which the well-known outline of the mighty Sonnengebirg bore to the
jagged "comb [49]" of the Kitzbichler-Horn, and for a nearer token,
there lay, just before her, the crushed wild-flower which her Jössl
had twisted and torn in his nervousness as he had brought himself to
speak to her for the first time of their future. But she thought not
of all that at that time; she was only concerned to find the spot,
and to listen for the stroke of the Nickel's pickaxe. "Hush!" that
was it again, sure enough! She lingers not on that happy bank; she
stops not to pick up one of those wild-flower tokens: 'click, clack,'
goes the axe, and that is the sound to guide her steps. The village
bells sound the Ave-Maria, but the sacred notes arrest her not--the
evening prayer is forgotten in the thirst for gold.
But Jössl heard the holy sound as he was retracing his steps
mournfully from his fruitless search after her, having missed her by
but a minute's interval. He heard it as he was passing a little old,
old wayside chapel, which you may yet see, with a lordly pine-tree
overshadowing it, and which records the melancholy fate of some Knappen
who perished in the underground workings. Jössl, who has no fear on the
steep mountain-side, and loves to hang dangerously between earth and
sky when he is out after the chamois, shudders when he thinks of those
long, dark, mysterious passages where the miners worked underground,
and, as he kneels on the stone step of that wayside memorial, obedient
to the village-bell, involuntarily applies his prayer to all those
who have to penetrate those strange recesses: "Be with them; help them
now and in the hour of death. Amen." If you had told him his Aennerl
was included in that prayer he would not have believed you then.
Meantime Aennerl had found her way to the opening of the old mine. It
has a lateral shaft through which you may walk some distance--a
very long way it seemed to Aennerl, now breathless and trembling,
but the nearing sounds of the Bergmännl's tool kept up her courage,
and determined her not to give in till she had attained the goal.
On she went, groping her way with fear and trembling, and expecting
every moment to come upon some terrible sight. But, far from this,
in proportion as she got deeper into the intricate passages of the
Röhrerbüchel, the way, instead of getting darker, grew lighter and
lighter. A pale, clear, rosy light played on the sides of the working,
which, now that she looked at them close, she found to her astonishment
were not made of rough, yellow clay, as she had thought hitherto,
but of pure, sparkling gold, and encrusted with gems!
It was no longer fear that palsied her, it was a fascination of
delight at finding herself in the midst of those riches she coveted,
but the near approach of which brought back misgivings of the danger
of their possession of which she had so often heard, though without
ever previously feeling an application to herself in the warning.
Her curiosity far too strongly stimulated to yield to the counsel of
her conscience to turn and flee the temptation, she walked stealthily
on and on, till the faint, rosy light grew into a red, radiant glow,
which, as she reached its focus, quite dazzled her senses.
She now found herself in a broad and lofty clearing, into which the
long narrow passage she had so long been timorously pursuing ran,
and in the sides of which she saw the openings of many other similar
ramifications. The walls, which arched it in overhead and closed
it from the daylight, were of gold and silver curiously intermixed,
burnished resplendently, and their brilliance so overcame her that
it was some minutes before she could recover her sight to examine
more particularly the details of this magnificent abode.
Then she discovered that all this blaze of light came from one huge
carbuncle [50], and that carbuncle was set in the breast-bib of the
leathern apron worn by a dwarf, the clang of whose pickaxe had lured
her to the uncanny spot.
The dwarf was much too busily and too noisily engaged to notice
Aennerl's footsteps, so she had plenty of leisure to examine him. He
was a little awkward-shaped fellow, nearly as broad as he was long,
with brawny muscular arms which enabled him to wield his pick with
tremendous effect. He seemed, however, to be wielding it merely
for exercise or sport, for there did not appear to be any particular
advantage to be gained from his work, which only consisted in chipping
up a huge block of gold, and there were heaps on heaps of such chips
already lying about. Though his muscles displayed so much strength,
however, his face gave you the idea of a miserable, worn-out old man;
his cheeks were wrinkled and furrowed and bronzed; and the matted
hair of his head and beard was snowy white. As he worked he sang,
in dull, low, unmelodious chant, to which his pick beat time,--
"The weary Bergmännl, old and grey,
Sits alone in a cleft of the earth for aye,
With never a friend to say, 'Good day.'
For a thousand years, and ten thousand more,
He has guarded earth's precious silver store,
Keeping count of her treasures of golden ore
By the light of the bright Karfunkelstein [51],
The only light of the Bergmännlein
But never a friend to say, 'Good day,'
As he sits in a cleft of the earth for aye,
Has the lonely Bergmännl, old and grey!"
He had poured out his ditty many times over while Aennerl stood
gazing at the strange and gorgeous scene. The ugly, misshapen,
miserable old man seemed altogether out of place amid the glories of
the wonderful treasure-house; and the glittering treasures themselves
in turn seemed misplaced in this remote subterranean retreat. Aennerl
was quite puzzled how to make it all out. It was the Nickel of the
Röhrerbüchel who was before her, she had no doubt of that, for he
was exactly what the tradition of the people had always described
him, and she had heard his ungainly form described before she could
speak; so familiar he seemed, indeed, from those many descriptions,
that it took away great part of the fear natural to finding herself
in so novel a situation.
At last the dwarf suddenly stopped his labour, and, as if in very
weariness, flung the tool he had been using far from him, so that
it fell upon a heap of gold chips near which Aennerl was standing,
scattering them in all directions. One of the sharp bits of ore hit
her rudely on the chin, and, anxious as she was to escape observation,
she could not suppress a little cry of pain.
Old and withered and haggard as he seemed, the Cobbold's eye glittered
with a light only second to that of the Karfunkelstein itself at the
sound of a maiden's voice, and quickly he turned to seize her. Aennerl
turned and fled, but the Nickel, throwing his leathern apron over
the shining stone on his breast, plunged the whole place in darkness,
and Aennerl soon lost her footing among the unevennesses of the way
and lay helpless on the ground. Her pursuer, to whom every winding
had been as familiar as the way to his pocket these thousand years,
was by her side in a trice, still singing, as he came along,--
"But never a friend to say, 'Good day,'
As he sits in a cleft of the earth for aye,
Has the lonely Bergmännl, old and grey!"
The self-pitying words, and the melancholy tone in which they were
uttered, changed most of Aennerl's alarm into compassion; and when the
dwarf uncovered the carbuncle again, and the bright, warm red light
played once more around them, and showed up the masses of gold after
which she had so longed, she began to feel almost at home, so that
when the dwarf asked her who she was and what had brought her there,
she answered him quite naturally, and told him all her story.
"To tell you the truth," said the Cobbold, when she had finished,
"I am pretty well tired of having all this to myself. I was very
angry at one time, it is true, with the way in which your fellows
went to work destroying and carrying every thing away, and leaving
nothing for those that are to come after, and I was determined to
put a stop to it. I am not here to look after one generation, or two,
or three, but for the whole lot of you in all the ages of the world,
and I must keep things in some order. But now they have given this
place up and left me alone, I confess I feel not a little sorry. I
used to like to listen to their busy noises, and their songs, and
the tramp of their feet. So, if you've a mind to make up for it,
and come and sit with me for a bit now and then, and sing to me some
of the lively songs you have in your world up there, I don't say I
won't give you a lapful of gold now and then."
A lapful of gold! what peasant girl would mind sitting for a bit now
and then, and singing to a poor lonely old fellow, to be rewarded
with a lapful of gold? Certainly not Aennerl! Too delighted to speak,
she only beamed assent with her dark, flashing eyes, and clapped her
hands and laughed for joy.
"It's many a day since these walls have echoed a sound like that," said
the dwarf, with deep feeling, and as Aennerl's smile rested on him, it
seemed to wipe away some of the rough dark wrinkles that furrowed his
cheeks and relax the tension of his knit brows. "And yet there's more
worth in those echoes than in all the metallic riches which resound to
them! Yes, my lass, only come and see the poor old Bergmännl sometimes,
and cheer him a bit, and you shall have what you will of his."
With that he led her gently back into the great vault where she had
first seen him working, and, stirring up a heap with his foot, said,--
"There, lass, there's the Bergmännl's store; take what you will--it is
not the Bergmännl that would say nay to a comely wench like you. Why,
if I were younger, and a better-looking fellow, it would not be my
lapfuls of gold I should offer you, it would be the whole lot of
it--and myself to boot! No, no, I shouldn't let you go from me again:
such a pretty bird does not come on to the snare to be let fly again,
I promise you! But I'm old and grey, and my hoary beard is no match for
your dainty cheeks. But take what you will, take what you will--only
come and cheer up the poor old Bergmännl a bit sometimes."
Aennerl had not wanted to be told twice. Already she had filled her
large pouch and her apron and her kerchief with all the alacrity
of greed. So much occupied was she with stowing away the greatest
possible amount of the spoil, that she scarcely remembered to thank
the Bergmännl, who, however, found pleasure enough in observing the
rapturous gestures her good fortune elicited.
"You'll come again?" said the Cobbold, as he saw her turn to go when
she had settled her burden in such a way that its weight should least
impede her walking.
"Oh, yes, never fear, I'll come again! When shall I come?"
"Oh, when you will! Let's see, to-day's Saturday, isn't it? Well,
next Saturday, if you like."
"Till next Saturday, then, good-bye!" said Aennerl, panting only to
turn her gold to account; and so full was she of calculation of what
she would do with it, that she never noticed the poor old dwarf was
coming behind her to light her, and singing, as he went,--
"The weary Bergmännl, old and grey,
Sits alone in a cleft of the earth for aye,
With never a friend to say, 'Good day.'
For a thousand years, and ten thousand more,
He has guarded earth's precious silver store,
Keeping count of her treasures of golden ore
By the light of the bright Karfunkelstein,
The only light of the Bergmännlein.
But never a friend to say, 'Good day,'
As he sits in a cleft of the earth for aye,
Has the lonely Bergmännl, old and grey!"
Aennerl had no time for pity; she was wholly absorbed in the
calculation of the grand things she could now buy, the fine dresses
she would be able to wear, and in rehearsing the harsh speeches of
command with which she would let fling at the girls whom she would
take into her service, and who yesterday were the companions-in-labour
of orphan Aennerl.
The village was all wrapt in silence and sleep as Aennerl got back
with her treasure.
"So late, and so laden! poor child!" said the parish priest, as he
came out of a large old house into the lane, and met her. "I have
been commending to God the soul of our worthy neighbour Bartl. He was
open-handed in his charity, and the poor will miss a friend; he gave us
a good example while he lived--Aennerl, my child, bet' für ihn [52]."
Aennerl scarcely returned his greeting, nor found one word of sorrow
to lament the loss of the good old Bartl; for one thought had taken
possession of her mind at first hearing of his death. Old Bartl had
a fine homestead, and one in which all was in good order; but Bartl
was alone in the world, there was no heir to enter on his goods: it
was well known that he had left all to the hospital, and the place
would be sold. What a chance for Aennerl! There was no homestead in
the whole Gebiet [53] in such good order, or so well worth having,
as the Hof of old Bartl.
Aennerl already reckoned it as hers, and in the meantime kept an eye
open for any chances of good stock that might come into the market.
Nor were chances wanting. The illness which had carried old Bartl to
the grave had been caught at the bedside of the Wilder Jürgl [54]. A
fine young man he had been indeed, but the villagers had not called him
"Wild" without reason; and because he had loved all sorts of games,
and a gossip in the tavern, and a dance with the village maids more
than work, all he had was in confusion. He always said he was young,
and he would set all straight by-and-by, there was plenty of time. But
death cut him off, young as he was; and his widow found herself next
morning alone in the world, with three sturdy boys to provide for,
all too young to earn a crust, and all Jürgl's debts to meet into the
bargain. There was no help for it: the three fine cows which were the
envy of the village, and which had been her portion at her father's
death, only six months before, must be sold.
Aennerl was the purchaser. Once conscience reproached her with a
memory of the days long gone by, when she and that young widow were
playmates, when orphan Aennerl had been taken home from her mother's
grave by that same widow's father, and the two children had grown up
in confidence and affection with each other. "Suppose I left her the
cows and the money too?" mused Aennerl--but only for a moment. No;
had they been any other cows, it might have been different--but just
those three which all the village praised! one which had carried
off the prize and the garland of roses at the last cow-fight [55],
and the others were only next in rank. That was a purchase not to be
thrown away. Still she was dissatisfied with herself, and inclined
to sift her own mind further, when she was distracted by the approach
of loud tramping steps, as of one carrying a burden.
It was the Langer Peterl; and a goodly burden he bore, indeed--a
burden which was sure to gather round him all the people of Reith,
or any other place through which he might pass.
Aennerl laughed and clapped her hands. "Oh, Peterl, you come erwünscht
[56]!" she exclaimed. "Show me what you have got to sell--show me all
your pretty things! I want an entirely new rig-out. Make haste! show
me the best--the very best--you have brought."
"Show you the best, indeed!" said the Langer Peterl, scarcely
slackening his pace, and not removing the pipe from his mouth; for
hitherto he had only known the orphan Aennerl by her not being one of
his customers. "Show you the best, indeed, that what you can't buy you
may amuse yourself with a sight of! And when you've soiled it all with
your greasy fingers, who'll buy it, d'you suppose? A likely matter,
indeed! Show you the best! ha! ha! ha! you don't come over me like
that, though you have got a pair of dark eyes which look through into
a fellow's marrow!"
"Nonsense, Peterl!" replied Aennerl, too delighted with the thought
of the finery in prospect even to resent the taunt; "I don't want
to look at it merely--not I, I can tell you! I want to buy it--buy
it all up--and pay you your own price! Here, look here, does this
please you?" and she showed him a store of gold such as in all his
travels he had never seen before.
"Oh, if that's your game," said the long Peter, with an entirely
changed manner, "pick and choose, my lady, pick and choose! Here are
silks and satins and laces, of which I've sold the dittos to real
ladies and countesses; there are----"
"Oh, show me the dittos of what real ladies and countesses have
bought!" exclaimed Aennerl, with a scream of delight; and the pedlar,
who was not much more scrupulous than others of his craft, made
haste to display his gaudiest wares, taking care not to own that
it was seldom enough his pack was lightened by the purchases of a
"real lady." To have heard him you would have thought his dealings
were only with the highest of the land.
But it needed only to say, "This is what my lady the Countess of
Langtaufers wears," "This is what my lady the Baronin Schroffenstein
bought of me," for Aennerl to buy it at the highest price the Long
Peter's easy conscience could let him extort; and, indeed, had he not
felt a certain commercial necessity for reserving something to keep up
his connexion with his ordinary customers on the rest of his line of
route, orphan Aennerl would have bought up all that was offered her
under these pretences, and without stopping to consider whether the
materials or colours were well assorted, or whether such titles as
those with which the pedlar dazzled her understanding existed at all!
The next day was a village festival in Reith. And the quiet people of
Reith thought the orphan Aennerl had gone fairly mad when they saw at
church the extravagant figure she cut in her newly-acquired finery;
for, in her hurry to display it, she had in one way and another piled
her whole stock of purchases on her person at once. A showy skirt
embroidered with large flowers of many colours, and trimmed with
deep lace, was looped up with bright blue ribbons and rosettes over a
petticoat of violet satin, beneath which another of a brilliant green
was to be seen. Beneath this again, you might have descried a pair of
scarlet stockings; and on her shining shoes a pair of many-coloured
rosettes and shoe-buckles. The black tight-fitting bodice of the local
costume was replaced by a kind of scarlet hussar's jacket trimmed with
fur, fastened at the throat and waist with brooches which must have
been originally designed for a stage-queen. From her ears dangled
earrings of Brobdignagian dimensions; and on her head was a hat and
feathers as unlike the little hat worn by all in Reith as one piece
of head-gear could well be to another.
Of course, it did not befit a lady so decked to take the lowly seat
which had served the orphan Aennerl; before the Divine office began
she had seated herself in the most conspicuous place in the church,
so that no one lost the benefit of the exhibition; and it may well
be believed that the congregation had no sooner poured out of the
sacred building than the appearance of the orphan Aennerl was the
one theme of a general and noisy conversation.
For some it was a source of envy; for some, of ridicule; for some
unsophisticated minds, of simple admiration. But the wiser heads kept
silence, or said, in tones of sympathy, "The orphan Aennerl isn't
the girl the Goigner Jössl took her for."
Jössl had been to church in his own village of Goign, and had therefore
been spared the sight, as well as the comments it had elicited. But
as he came towards Reith to take his Aennerl for the holiday walk,
he noticed many strange bits of hinting in the greetings he received,
which puzzled him so, that, instead of going straight on to Aennerl,
he sat down on the churchyard wall, pondering what it could all
mean. "I wish you joy of your orphan Aennerl!" one had said. "Goigner
Jössl, Goigner Jössl, take my advice, and shun the threshold of orphan
Aennerl!" were the words of another, and he was an old man and a sage
friend too. "Beware, Goigner Jössl, beware!" seemed written on every
face he had met--what could it all mean? He wandered forward uncertain,
and then back again, then on again, till he could bear it no longer,
and he determined to go down to the Wirthshaus beim Stangl, and ask
his mates to their face what they all meant.
Before he came in sight of the door, however, he changed his
resolution. Through the open window he heard noisy talk, and noisiest
of all was the voice of the Langer Peterl. Honest Jössl had an
invincible antipathy to the wheedling, the gossip, the bluster, and
the evil tongue of the Langer Peterl, and he never trusted himself to
join his company, for he knew a meeting with him always led to words.
Determining to wait till he was gone, he walked about outside, and
as there is always a train of waggons waiting at the Wirthshaus am
Stangl while the wayworn carters refresh themselves, he could easily
remain unperceived.
Thus, however, he became unintentionally the hearer of all he desired
to know--much more than he desired, I should say.
"I tell you, she,--Aennerl would have bought my whole pack if I'd
have let her!" vociferated the Langer Peterl; "and I might have
saved myself all further tramping, but that I wouldn't disappoint my
pretty Ursal, and Trausl, and Moidl, and Marie," he added, in a tone
of righteousness.
"Buy it, man! you don't mean buy it! She got it out of you one way
or another, but you don't mean she bought it, in the sense of paying
for it?"
"Yes, I do. I say, she paid for it in pure gold!"
"No, that won't do!" said other voices; "where could she get gold
from?"
"Oh, that's not my affair," replied the pedlar, "where she got it
from! It wouldn't do for a poor pedlar to ask where his customers
get their money from--ha! ha! ha! I'm not such a fool as that! I
know the girl couldn't have it rightfully, as well as you do, but it
wouldn't do for me to refuse all the money I suspect is not honestly
come by--ha! ha! I should then drive a sorry trade indeed!"
Jössl's first impulse had been to fly at the Langer Peterl, and, as
he would have expressed it, thrust the lie down his throat; but then,
he reflected; where had the girl got the money from? what could he
say? To dispute it without having means of disproving it was only
opening wider the sore; and while he stood dejected and uncertain
the conversation went on more animated than before.
"I agree with you!" cried, between two whiffs of smoke, an idle
Bursch, on whom since the death of the Wilder Jürgl that nickname had
descended by common consent. "What right have we to be prying into
our neighbour's business? If the girl's got money, why should any
one say she hasn't a right to it? She's an uncommon fine girl, I say,
and looks a long way better than she did before in her beggarly rags;
and a girl that can afford to dress like that is not to be despised,
I say."
That the speaker had only received the cognomen of Wild after the
Wilder Jürgl was only in that he was younger; he had earned the
right to it in a tenfold degree. None of the steady lads of either
Goign or Reith or Elmau, or any other place in the neighbourhood,
would make a friend of him, and that is why he now sat apart from
the others smoking in a corner.
To be praised and defended by the Wilder Karl was a worse compliment
than to be suspected by the steadier ones. The words therefore threw
the assembly into some embarrassment for a moment, till the Kleiner
Friedl [57], a sworn friend of Jössl, thinking he ought to strike a
blow in his defence somewhere, cried out, in a menacing tone,--
"Very well played, Wilder Karl! but I see your game. You think because
the girl's got money she's a good chance for you. You think her
flaunting way will estrange steady Goigner Jössl, and then you think
you may step in between them--and a sorry figure she'd cut two days
after you'd had the handling of her! She wouldn't have much finery
left then, I'll warrant! The Langer Peterl there would have it all
back at half-price, and that half-price would all be in the pocket
of our honest Wirth am Stangl. But it's in vain; whatever she is,
she'll be true to the Goigner Jössl, I'll warrant--and as for you,
she wouldn't look at you!"
Wilder Karl rose to his feet, and glared at the Kleiner Friedl with
a glance of fury. "I wager you every thing you and I have in the
world, that I'll make her dance every dance with me at the Jause
[58] this very night!" and he shook his fist with a confident air,
for he had a smooth tongue and a comely face, and Aennerl would not
have been the first girl these had won over.
"That you won't," said the Wirth, coming to Friedl's rescue, who was
but a young boy, and had felt rather dismayed at the proposed wager,
"for I'm not sure, till all this is cleared up, that I should admit her
to the dance. But the difficulty will not arise, for Aennerl herself
told my daughter Moidl that now she could wear a lady's clothes it
would be impossible for her to come any more to the village dance."
Strengthened by the support of the Wirth [59], the Kleiner Friedl
felt quite strong again; and he could not forbear exclaiming, "There,
I told you there was no chance for you, Wilder Karl!"
But Wilder Karl, furious at the disappointing news of the Wirth,
and maddened by the invective of the Kleiner Friedl, rushed at the
boy head-over-heels, bent on mischief.
But Wilder Karl, though a bully and a braggart, inspired no respect,
because no feather adorned his hat, and that showed he was no champion
of any manly pursuit. So the whole room was on the side of Kleiner
Friedl; and the bully having been turned out, and the subject of
conversation pretty well exhausted, the Goigner Jössl turned slowly
home.
Now I don't say that he was right here. He was an excellent young
man, endowed in an especial degree with Tirolese virtues. His parents
had never had a moment's uneasiness about him; no one in the whole
village was more regular or devout at church; in the field none more
hard-working or trustworthy; at the village games and dances none
acquitted himself better; and had a note of danger to his country
sounded in his time I am sure he would have been foremost to take
his place among its living ramparts, and that none would have borne
out the old tradition of steadfastness more manfully than he.
But of course he had his faults too. And one of his faults was the
fault of many good people,--the fault of expecting to find every one
as good as themselves, of being harsh and unforgiving, of sulking
and pining instead of having an open explanation.
Now, mind you, I think it would have been much better if Jössl had,
after hearing the conversation I have just narrated, gone straight on
to Aennerl's, and had it all out with her, had heard from her own lips
the truth of the matter about which all Reith and Goign were talking,
and judged her out of her own mouth, giving her, if he could not
approve her conduct, advice by which she might mend it in the future.
But this was not his way. He had thought his Aennerl a model, almost
a divinity. He had always treated her as such, talked to her as such,
loved her as such. It was clear now, however, that in some way or
other she had done wrong. Instead of getting to the bottom of it, and
trying to set it straight, he gave himself up to his disappointment
and went home and sulked, and refused to be comforted.
Aennerl, meantime, knew nothing of all this. She had had a great desire
to be a lady and no longer a servant; and having plenty of money,
and plenty of fine clothes, she thought this made her a lady, and had
no idea but that every one acknowledged the fact. I don't think she
exactly wished that all the village should be envious of her, but at
all events she wished that she should enjoy all the prerogatives of
ladyhood, and this, she imagined, was one. Then she had no parents
to teach her better, and Jössl, who might have been her teacher,
had forsaken her.
But it was all too new and too exciting for her to feel any misgivings
yet. She amused herself with turning over all her fine things, and
fancied herself very happy.
In another day or two the Hof of good neighbour Bartl was put up for
sale, and another visit to the Bergmännlein enabled her to become the
purchaser. She thus became the most important proprietor in Reith;
but she was so little used to importance that she did not at all
perceive that the people treated her very differently from the former
proprietor of the Hof.
Before him every hat was doffed with alacritous esteem due to his
age and worth. But poor Aennerl hardly received so much as the old
greeting, which in the days of companionship in poverty had always
been the token of good fellowship with her, as with every one.
It was long before any suspicion that she was mistrusted reached the
mind of Aennerl. In the meantime she enjoyed her new condition to
the full. Weekly visits to the Röhrerbüchel enabled her to purchase
every thing she desired; and when the villagers held back from her,
she ascribed their diffidence to the awe they felt for her wealth.
In time, however, the novelty began to wear off. She grew tired at
last of giving orders to her farm-servants, and watching her sleek
cattle, and counting her stores of grain. That Jössl had not been
to see her, she never ascribed to any thing but his respect for her
altered condition; and she felt that she could not demean herself by
being united to a lad who worked for day-wages.
Still grandeur began to tire, and her isolation made her proud,
and angry, and cross; and then people shunned her still more, and
upon that she grew more vexed and angry. But, worse than this, she
got even so used to her riches that she quite forgot all about the
Nickel to whom she owed them. Her farm was so well stocked that it
produced more than her wildest fancies required; she had no need to
go back to the Röhrerbüchel to ask for more gold, and she had grown
too selfish to visit it out of compassion to the dwarf.
The Bergmännlein upon this grew disappointed; but his disappointment
was of a different kind from Jössl's. He was not content to sit apart
and sulk; he was determined to have his revenge.
One bleak October night, when the wind was rolling fiercely down
from the mountains, there was a sudden and fearful cry of "Fire!" in
the village of Reith. The alarm-bells repeated the cry aloud and
afar. The good people rose in haste, and ran into the lane with that
ready proffer of mutual help which distinguishes the mountain-folk.
The whole sky was illumined, the fierce wind rolled the flames and
the smoke hither and thither. It was Aennerl's Hof which was the
scene of the devastation. The fire licked up the trees, and the farm,
and the rooftree before their eyes. So swift and unnatural was the
conflagration that the people were paralyzed in their endeavour to
help. One ran for ladders, another for buckets; but before any help
could be obtained the whole homestead was but one vast bonfire. Then,
madly rushing to the top of the high pointed roof, might be seen the
figure of Aennerl clothed only in her white night-dress, and shrieking
fearfully, "Save me! save me!" Every moment the roof threatened to fall
in, and the agonized beholders watched her and sent up loud prayers,
but were powerless to save.
Suddenly, on the road from Goign a figure was seen hasting along. It
was the Goigner Jössl. Would he be in time? The crowd was silent now,
even their prayers were said in silence, for every one gasped for
breath, and the voice failed. A trunk of an old branchless tree yet
bent over the burning ruins. Jössl had climbed that trunk and was
making a ladder of his body by which to rescue Aennerl all frantic
from the roof. Will he reach her? Will his arm be long enough? Will
he fall into the flame? Will he be overpowered by the smoke? See! he
holds on bravely. The smoke rolls above his head, the flames dart
out their fierce fangs beneath him! He holds on bravely still. He
calls to Aennerl. She is fascinated with terror, and hears him
not. "Aennerl! Aennerl!" once more, and his voice reached her, and
with it a sting of reproach for her scornful conduct drives her to
hide her face from his in shame.
"Aennerl! Aennerl!" yet once again; and he wakes her, as from a dream,
to a life like that of the past the frenzy had obliterated. She forgets
where she is; but the voice of Jössl sounded to her as it sounded in
the years gone by, and she obeys it mechanically. She comes within
reach--and he seizes her! But the flames are higher now, and the
smoke denser and more blinding. "Jesus Maria! where are they? They
have fallen into the flames at last! Jesus, erbarme Dich ihrer [60]!"
"Hoch! Hoch! Hoch [61]!" shouts the crowd, a minute later. "They
are saved, Gott sei dank, they are saved!" and a jubilant cry rings
through the valley which the hills take up and echo far and wide.
On the edge of the crowd, apart, stands a little misshapen old man
with grey, matted hair and beard, whom no one knows, but who has
watched every phase of the catastrophe with thrilling emotion.
It was he who first raised the cry that they had fallen into the
flames; and the people sickened as they heard it, for he spoke it in
joy, and not in anguish. In the gladness of the deliverance they have
forgotten the old man, but now he shouted once more, as he dashed his
hood over his head in a tone of disappointed fury, "I did it! and I
will have my revenge yet!"
"No; let there be peace," said Jössl, who had deposited Aennerl
in safe hands, and now came forth to deal one more stroke for her;
"let there be peace, old man, and let bygones be bygones."
"Never!" said the Cobbold; "I have said I will have my revenge,
and I will have it!"
"But," argued Jössl, "have you not had your revenge? All you gave
her you have had taken away--she is as she was before: can you not
leave her so?"
"No!" thundered the dwarf; "I will have the life of her before
I've done."
"Never!" in his turn shouted Jössl; and he placed himself in front
of the elf.
"Oh, don't be afraid," replied the dwarf, with a cold sneer, "I'm not
going after her. I've only to wait a bit, and she'll come after me."
Jössl was inclined to let him go, but remembering the instability
of woman, he thought it better to make an end of the tempter there
and then.
"Will you promise me, that if I let you return to your hole in peace,
you will do her no harm should she visit you there again?"
"I promise you that I will serve her to the most frightful of
deaths--that's what I promise you!" retorted the enraged gnome.
"Then your blood be on your own head!" said Jössl, and, with his
large hunting-knife drawn in his hand, he placed himself in a menacing
attitude before the now alarmed dwarf.
Jössl was a determined, powerful youth, not to be trifled with. The
gnome trusted to the strength of his muscles, and fled with all
his speed; but Jössl, who was a cunning runner too, maintained his
place close behind him. The dwarf, finding himself so hotly followed,
began to lose his head, and no longer felt so clearly as at first the
direction he had to take to reach the Röhrerbüchel. Jössl continued
to drive him before him, puzzling him on the zigzags of the path
till he had completely lost the instinct of his way of safety. Then,
forcing him on as before to the edge of the precipice, he closed upon
him where there was no escape.
Yes, one escape there was--it was in the floods of the Brandenburger
Ache, which roared and boiled away some hundred feet below! Rather
than fall ignominiously by the hand of a child of man, the gnome
dashed himself, with a fierce shout, down the abyss. And that was
the last that was ever seen of the Nickel of the Röhrerbüchel.
Aennerl was now poorer than ever in this world's goods, but she was
rich in one deep and wholesome lesson--that it is not glittering wealth
which brings true happiness. The smiles of honest friends, and the
love of a true heart, and the testimony of an approving conscience are
not to be bartered away for all the gold in all the mines of the earth.
Wilder Karl laughed with his two or three boon companions, and said,
with a burst of contempt, "I've no doubt that fool of a Goigner Jössl
will marry the orphan Aennerl now that she hasn't a penny to bless
herself with!"
And the Wilder Karl judged right. Aennerl scarcely dared hope that he
could love her still, and she went forth humbly to her work day by
day, neither looking to the right hand nor the left, accepting all
the hardships and humiliations of her lot as a worthy punishment of
her folly and vanity.
But one evening as she came home from her toil, the Goigner Jössl
came behind her, and he said softly in her ear, "Do you love me still,
Aennerl?"
"Love you still, Jössl!" cried the girl; "you have thrice given me
life--first when I was a poor, heartbroken orphan, and you made me
feel there was still some one to live for in the world; and then a
second time, in that dreadful fire, when hell seemed to have risen
up out of the earth to punish me before the time; and now again this
third time, when I began to think my folly had sickened you for good
and all! Don't ask me that, Jössl, for you must know I love you more
than my life! If I dared, there is one question I should ask you,
Can you still love me? but I have no right to ask that."
"I must answer you in your own words, Aennerl," replied Jössl:
"you must know that I love you more than my life!"
"You must, you must--you have shown it!" exclaimed Aennerl. They
had reached the bank near the Röhrerbüchel where we first saw them;
the rosy light of the sunset, and the scent of the wild flowers,
was around them just as on that night.
"Yes," said Aennerl, after a pause, as if it were just then that
Jössl had said the words [62]--"yes, Jössl, this is happiness; we want
nothing more in this world than the warm sun, and the blue sky--and
to be together! Yes, Jössl, we shall always be happy together."
They walked on together; as they reached the memorial of the dead
miners the village bells rang the Ave. And as they knelt down,
how heartfelt was Jössl's gratitude that the prayer he had uttered
at that spot once before had been so mercifully answered, and his
Aennerl restored to him for ever!
THE WILDER JÄGER AND THE BARONESS.
There was a rich and powerful baron who owned a broad patrimony
in South Tirol, Baron di Valle. He was not only one of the richest
and most powerful, he was also one of the happiest, for he had the
prettiest and most sensible woman of Tirol for his bride. The brief
days were all too short for the pleasure they found in each other's
society, and they were scarcely ever apart the whole day through.
Once, however, the Baron went on a hunting party through a part of
the country which was too rough for the Baroness to follow him. The
day was splendid, the scent good, and the Baron full of enthusiasm
for his favourite sport; but what egged him on more than all these,
was the sight of a strange bold hunter who bestrode a gigantic mount,
and who dashed through brake and briar, and over hill and rock,
as if no obstacle could arrest him. Baron di Valle, who thought he
was the boldest hunter of the whole country-side, was quite mad to
see himself outdone; nor could he suffer this to be. Determined to
outstrip his rival, he spurred his horse on, so that he might but
pass him somewhere; but the Wilder Jäger, for it was he, always kept
on ahead, and though the brave Baron kept close to his heels, he was
never able to pass him by.
They had long outstripped all the rest. But all this time the Baron
had taken no note of whither he went; now he found himself in the midst
of a thick forest of tall fir-trees, with their lower branches cut off
because they were planted so thick and close together that there was no
room between them, and their tops were intergrown so that they formed
one compact mass, excluding the very air and the light of day. The Wild
Hunter stopped his mad career before this barrier, and then, turning,
pretended for the first time to be aware of the Baron's presence.
"What do you want here?" he exclaimed, fiercely, his rolling eyes
glaring like fire. "How dare you invade my domain!" and with that he
blew a mighty blast on his hunting-horn, at sound of which a whole
troop of wild huntsmen, habited like himself, and with similar fiery
eyes, appeared suddenly, surrounding the Baron.
"Stand back!" cried the Baron, in a commanding tone, as the wild
huntsmen dismounted and prepared to seize him.
"No one commands here but I," said the Wilder Jäger. And then he added,
addressing his men, "Seize him, and carry him off!"
"Hold!" said the Count, but speaking more humbly than before, for he
saw he must yield something to the necessity of the case; "I suppose
there is some ransom upon which you will let me off? I have wronged
you in nothing, and meant no offence. I admired your brave riding,
and I thought what one brave man might do, another might."
"Since you take that tone," said the Wilder Jäger, "I will do what
I can for you. I will let you ransom yourself at one price. You must
know, that it is not you that I want at all; I only lured you here as
a means of getting hold of the Baroness, and had you been uppish and
violent, I should have kept you in chains for the rest of your life,
while I married her. But as you know how to keep a civil tongue in
your head, I will show you that I can appreciate courtesy. So now
I give you permission to return, to be yourself the bearer to your
wife of my conditions.
"Tell her, then, that I have won her for my own, and she belongs
irrevocably to me; it is useless that she attempt to escape, for you
see that my people are countless, and violence is of no avail against
me. But I am a good sort of fellow, and as I love her, I don't want to
do any thing to alarm her, so long as she shows no foolish resistance."
"But the ransom? You spoke of a ransom just now," interposed the Baron,
hastily; "what, about that?"
"All in good time," replied the Wilder Jäger--"give a fellow time
to speak. The only mode of ransom is this--let the Baroness guess
my name. I give her three guesses of three words each, and an
interval of a month. But if she doesn't succeed, remember, she is
mine! this day month I appear and claim her. If, in the meantime,
she thinks she has made the guess, and wants to satisfy herself as to
its correctness"--and he laughed a ghastly laugh of scorn, as if to
impress the Baron with the hopelessness of the idea--"she has only
to come to the ilex grove on the border of this forest which marks
the frontier between your territory and mine. If she stands there,
beside the centre tree, and blows this horn--see what a pretty little
gold horn it is, that I have had studded with diamonds and rubies--just
fit for her pretty little fingers!" he added, with a grin of scorn--"at
sound of her voice I shall be with her on the instant."
The Baron was not one to have tolerated such talk from any human
being soever, but he felt the necessity of vanquishing his temper this
time--a more difficult matter ordinarily than vanquishing a foe--for a
dearer life than his own was at stake; and if he could not altogether
save the Baroness from the power of the Wilder Jäger, he could take
counsel with her as to the means of finding out the hidden name,
and at least spend with her the last days that he could call her his.
Accordingly he took the horn, and stuck it in his belt without a
word. And indeed no word would have availed him, for the whole troop
of the wild huntsmen had vanished as it came, and he was left alone.
There was no difficulty in finding his way back by the path by which
he had come, for it was plainly marked by the havoc of the surrounding
vegetation the wild chase had cost. And though he now put spurs to
his steed that he might reach home without losing an hour more than
he could help of the companionship of his beloved wife, he now for
the first time apprehended how swiftly he had come, for, riding the
utmost of mortal speed, it took him three days to get back to the ilex
grove which marked the boundary of his own territory. Hence it was
still half a day's journey to reach his castle. But while he was yet
a great way off his loving wife came out to meet him, full of joy at
his approach, for since the rest of the hunt had come home without him
she had done nothing but watch from the highest turret of the castle,
that she might catch the first sight of him returning; her thirsty
eyes had not been slow to discern his figure as he hastened home.
Great was her amazement, however, to find that, instead of returning
her greeting with his wonted delight, he turned his head away, as if
he dared not look at her, and wept. She rode beside him all the way
home, but he still kept silence, for he could not bear to render her
sorrowful with the message of which he was the bearer. But he could
conceal nothing from her loving solicitude, and soon he had told
her all.
Being a woman of prudent counsel and strong trust in God, she was much
less cast down, however, than he had expected. Though bewildered at
first, and seeing no way out of the difficulty, she yet declared she
was sure some way of escape would be opened to her, it only remained
to consider where they should find it. And never a word of angry
recrimination did she utter to remind him that it was his mad vanity
had brought them to this plight.
The Baron felt the full force of this forbearance, for he did
nothing but reproach himself with his folly. But the fresh proof of
her amiability only occasioned another pang at the thought of the
approaching separation.
Still no good counsel came to mind, and the Baroness herself began
almost to lose heart. The Baron had abandoned the hunt and all his
sports, and sat gloomily in the ancient seat of his ancestors. The
Baroness sat among the flowers of her oriel window, her embroidery
in her hand; but her mind was far away over the tops of the dark
green trees, looking for some bright thought to bring deliverance
to her from above. Every morning and evening they knelt together in
the chapel of the castle, and prayed that a spirit of prudence and
counsel might be given them.
Ten days had passed, and no good thought had come. The Baron reclined
gloomily in the ancient seat of his ancestors, and the lady sat
among the flowers of the oriel window gazing over the tops of the
high dark fir-trees, full of hope that some wise counsel would be
given her. Suddenly she rose and clapped her hands, and her ringing
laugh brought the Baron bounding to her side.
"I have found it, Heinrich!" she exclaimed; "I am sure I have found
the name! Doesn't the Wilder Jäger live among the tall fir-trees?"
"Yes; among the tall fir-trees is his dwelling."
"And didn't he speak of three names?"
"Yes; he said your guess must include three names."
"Then I have it, Heinrich! What more natural than that he should be
called from the names of the trees which form his palace? As I was
gazing over the tops of the high dark trees the words came into my
mind, 'Tree, Fir, Pine'--those will be the three words. Come, and let
us go out to the ilex grove, and be free to belong to each other as
of old!"
She was so lively that the Baron caught some spark of her hopefulness,
but he was too far sunk in despondency to enter into her joy all
at once. Nevertheless, it was not a moment when, if ever, he would
have thwarted her, so he ordered the horses to be saddled, for it was
still early morning. And they rode together to the ilex grove which
was the boundary of the Wilder Jäger's domain; the Baroness striving
every minute by some sprightly speech to distract the Baron, and the
Baron utterly incapable of rousing himself from his gloomy fears.
The Baroness was the first to reach the grove; in fact, she had ridden
on a good way in advance, that she might have it out with the Wilder
Jäger before her husband came, so that she might greet him on his
arrival with the news that she was free.
Merrily she sounded the jewelled horn, and before its sound had died
away the Wilder Jäger was at her side. He no longer looked dusty,
wild, and fierce, as during the Baron's mad chase. He seemed a man
of noble presence, carefully dressed in a green hunting-suit, with a
powerful bow in his hand, and a beautiful boy to hold his arrows. In
his belt was a jewelled hunting-knife of exquisite workmanship, and
to a cord across his shoulder hung a golden horn of similar pattern
to that he had sent the Baroness, and, moreover, as a further act of
gallantry, he wore a scarf of red and white, the favourite colours
of the Baroness. A jewelled cap shaded the sun from his brow, which
a red and white plume gracefully crested.
The Baroness looked astonished to find she had nothing more formidable
to meet, and felt that had she not already been the wife of the
Baron di Valle, she would not have found it so great a calamity to
be obliged to marry the Wilder Jäger.
The Wilder Jäger was not slow to perceive that the impression he
had produced was good, and bowing towards her with courtly mien,
paid her a respectful salutation, and immediately added,--
"Your eyes are so clever, fair Baroness, that I very much fear you
are going to pronounce my name, and rob me of the happiness I had so
nearly bought! Spare me, therefore, lovely lady--say not the word! but
come with me into the shady pine-forest, where you shall have every
thing heart can desire--the noblest palace, the widest domain, and
unlimited command; retainers without number, pleasures without alloy,
and every wish gratified without condition!"
He approached her as he spoke. His eyes sparkled no longer with the
angry fury which had thrilled the Baron, but with a mild fire of
tenderness and devotion. Nothing more attractive and winning than his
whole appearance and manner could be conceived, and for a moment the
Baroness had almost forgotten the less accomplished--but, oh! more
sincere--passion of her Heinrich.
It was only for a moment. The weakness passed, she instantly drew
herself up with dignity, and stepped back against the friendly ilex.
"It was not to hear such words I came," she said, "but to pronounce
those which are to free me from ever having to listen to such
protestations again----"
"Oh, say them not! say them not!" said the Wilder Jäger, throwing
himself at her feet. "Any thing but that! Name any wish by fulfilling
which I can win your favour; name any difficult task by accomplishing
which I can prove myself worthy of your love----"
"My love," said the Baroness, striving to speak coldly, "is another's
already; you see, there is none to be won from me. But interrupt me
no more. I have guessed your name, to discover which was to be the
price of my freedom. It is----"
The Wilder Jäger clasped her feet in despair, entreating her not
to pronounce it, but she went on, with a clear, confident voice,
to utter the words,--
"Tree! Fir! Pine!"
The Wilder Jäger looked up as if he did not quite understand what
she meant.
"Now, let go your hold, and let me pass, for I am free!" she said,
resolutely.
"'Free,' say you?" said the handsome Cobbold, with
astonishment. "Free? did you mean you thought that was my unknown
name?"
"Yes," replied the lady, in a voice of conviction.
"Oh, dear, it is nothing like it!" he answered, with glee, and yet
not without a delicate regard for her disappointment. "No, that is
not it; nor is it likely you should ever arrive at it. So days of
happiness are before us yet." He had no need to kneel to her longer,
but it was joy to him to be at her feet.
"Dare not to speak so before me!" replied the Baroness, trying to
tear herself away. "I know of no happiness, except with Heinrich; and
I am persuaded that, though I have failed this time, it will yet be
given to me to find the word which shall restore me to him completely."
The Baron arrived as she finished speaking; and though he saw by the
sorrowful look which now had possession of her bright face, and the
triumphant mien of the Cobbold, that she had failed, and that she was
still under the Wilder Jäger's spell, he was so incensed to find him
in such an attitude that he drew his sword, and would have closed with
him then and there, but the Wilder Jäger blew one note upon his horn,
and in an instant he was surrounded, as before, by his myrmidons,
who unarmed him and held him bound upon the ground, while the Cobbold
himself approached to seize the hand of the Baroness. A fiery fury
took possession of him, and sparks darted from his eyes which fell
smouldering among the twigs of fir. Powerless to defend his wife
by force, the Baron once more mastered his anger, and reminded his
adversary courteously of his promise to leave them at peace for the
interval of a month.
"I am always ready to answer you in whatever tone you elect to
adopt," said the Wilder Jäger, rising, and leaving the side of the
Baroness. "You see, it is useless to attempt force against me; but when
you behave with due consideration, so will I." At a sign from him the
sprites loosed the Baron's bonds, gave him back his sword, and held
his stirrup with the most respectful care, while he mounted his horse.
"Depart, then, unharmed," said the Wilder Jäger, "since you set so
much store on prolonging your suspense. I should say, it was wiser
to make the best of a bad bargain and submit to your fate at once,
with grace. However, I have given my word and won't go back from it. I
restrain my power over you till the full end of the month; and, what
is more, I not only give the lady three guesses, but as many as she
likes. For," he added, with a cynical leer, "she is as little likely
to guess it in thirty as in three; while every time that she chooses
to essay the thing, it gives me the happiness of seeing her." And he
turned away with a peal of wild laughter which made the lady shudder.
The sprites vanished as they had come; and the Baron and his wife
rode sadly home, without the courage to exchange a word.
If the Baroness had for a moment been won by the comely presence
and devoted admiration of the Wilder Jäger, she had now seen enough
reason to fear his treacherous humour, and to dread her impending
fate as much as at the first.
They spent the rest of the evening in prayers and tears in the chapel
of the castle, and the next evening, and the next; and the days flowed
by as before, but more sadly, and with even less of hope. The Baroness
scarcely now dared raise her eyes so high as the tops of the tall
dark trees; they fell abroad over the beautiful landscape stretched
out beneath them, and the good gifts of God cropping up out of the
ground; and she thought how beautiful was that nature to which she
must so soon say adieu!
Thus ten days passed without a gleam of expectation. Suddenly she
rose and clapped her hands; and her silvery laugh brought her husband
bounding to her side.
"I have it this time, Heinrich!" she said.
And the Baron listened anxiously, but trusted himself never to speak.
"Said you not that the Wilder Jäger's domain was entirely among the
tall dark trees?"
"So it seemed to me it was," responded her husband.
"But I certainly discerned through the forest patches of ripe golden
grain. Saw you them not too?"
"The first time I rode too fast to notice them, but I do think on
this last journey I saw such here and there by the wayside."
"No doubt," continued the lady, "it is hence he takes his name;
these small patches of golden grain are more worth than all the
vast forests. Order the horses, for I have guessed his name! It came
to my mind just now, as I looked over the harvest-fields stretched
out yonder.
"Wheat, Oats, Maize--that will be his name!"
The Baron knew her counsel had often proved right when he least
expected, and even disputed it, and though he was now too desponding
to expect success, he was likewise least inclined to dispute her
word. So he ordered the horses round, for it was yet early morning,
and they rode to the ilex grove.
The Baroness, whose hope seemed to rise as she got nearer the goal
of the journey, was full of spirit and cheerfulness, and, finding it
impossible to work up the Baron to the same expectation as herself,
rode on to accomplish her work ere he arrived.
One note of the jewelled horn brought the Wilder Jäger to her presence.
As she had failed before, he had less fear of her success this time,
and he was proportionately less subservient and submissive.
"So you think you are come to give me my dismissal, beautiful
Baroness? But you have no reason to repulse me so--be assured I mean
it well with you; and though there is no limit to my power over you,
I shall never treat you otherwise than with honour," he said, with a
little scornful laugh which suited his fine features exactly, and made
him look handsomer than before. And as he spoke so, his haughty tone,
not unmixed with warmth and admiration, thrilled her with the notion
that, after all, if it were not for her troth plighted to the Baron,
it would not be so very dreadful to owe obedience to one who knew
how to command so gracefully.
But it was only for a moment. The weakness passed, she drew herself
up with dignity, and, retreating against the support of the friendly
ilex, said,--
"Silence! and remember your promise to leave me at peace till the
fatal month is out. I cannot listen to you. And now for your name----"
The Cobbold bowed, with a half-mocking, half-respectful inclination,
as if forcing himself to listen out of courtesy, but secure that she
would not guess right.
"Wheat! Oats! Maize!" said the Baroness, with a positive air.
The Cobbold stared comically, as if doubting whether she was in
earnest; and at last, as if to relieve her out of politeness,
he replied,--
"Oh, dear no, that's not at all like it!"
The Baroness hung her head in despair; then, drawing herself up again,
she said,--
"How do I know you are not deceiving me? You say this is not your name,
and I have to believe you--but suppose I maintain that it is it?"
"You are not fair, beautiful Baroness," replied the Wilder Jäger,
with a charming dignity. "I have never deceived you, nor ever would
I deceive so noble a lady! what I have promised, I have kept; but in
this case I have no means of deceiving you--great as is my power, that
is one thing beyond it. Could a mortal, indeed, discover and pronounce
my name in my presence, I could not stand before him an instant. But
this it is not given to mortals to know, and that is why I proposed
this difficulty to you. Should I have paid you so bad a compliment,"
he added, with his cynical laugh, "as to render it possible that I
should lose so great a prize?"
The Baron rode up while he was saying this, and shrank dumb with
despair at the cruel words and the positive tone in which they were
uttered.
Without condescending to exchange a word with the Cobbold this time,
he lifted his wife on to her palfrey and rode away with her in silence.
It was now all over. His despondency even gained the Baroness, and she
ceased to rack her brain with the hope of finding the inconceivable
name. Her eye not only dared not raise itself to the tall dark
trees--it had not even power to range over the landscape. With her
head sunk upon her breast, she sat silently among her flowers in her
oriel window, nor cared even to look at them. Only in the morning
and the evening they knelt together in the chapel of the castle,
and prayed that the calamity might pass away yet.
The days went by, and now the last but one had come; and the Baroness
trembled, for her imagination pictured the Cobbold coming to carry her
away. But her courage did not forsake her even now, and she proposed
to go out into the forest to meet her fate, as more noble than waiting
for it to overtake her.
The Baron, too dispirited to discuss any matter, and indifferent to
every thing, now that all he cared for was to be taken from him, gave
a listless consent. The next morning, having prayed and wept together
in the castle chapel, they set out on their mournful pilgrimage,
the young wife led as a lamb to the sacrifice.
The flowers bloomed beneath their feet, and the sun shone warm
overhead, the birds sang blithe and gay--all nature was bright and
fresh; but with heavy hearts they passed through the midst, nor found
a thought but for their own great sorrow. As they came to the borders
of the forest, however, the Baroness discerned the cry as of one in
distress. Forgetting for the moment her own agony, her compassionate
heart was at once moved, and she begged her husband to turn aside
with her, and find out the poor wretch who pleaded so piteously. In
a little time they had followed up the sound, and they found one of
the Wilder Jäger's men tied in front of a lately lighted fire. In a
few minutes more the heaped-up wood would have been all in flames,
and then the luckless wight must have been slowly roasted! At a word
from the Baroness, the Baron cut his bonds; and then they inquired
what was the occasion of his punishment. "Oh, it don't want much to
get a punishment out of the Wilder Jäger!" was the answer.
"Is he so very severe, then?" asked the Baroness, her cheek blanching
with fear.
"At times, yes; it depends how the fancy takes him--if he is out of
humour he spares no one. If he were not so violent and arbitrary,
I would do you a good turn for that you have done me; but I dare not,
his anger is too fearful."
The more he descanted on the Wilder Jäger's barbarity, the more the
Baroness prayed that he would tell her the word that would save her;
but he dared not, and all her instance was in vain. "And yet there
might be a means," he said, for he was desirous of doing a service
to his deliverers.
"Oh, speak! tell us what we can do--no matter what it is, we will do
it!" answered both at once.
"Well, if you happen to overhear it, I shan't have told you, and yet
it will serve your turn just as well;" and with that he walked on
close in front of them, singing carelessly as he went.
"How are we to 'overhear' it, Heinrich?" said the Baroness, after
a bit.
"He seems to have forgotten us," replied the Baron, in despair. "I have
been expecting him every minute to turn round and give us a hint of
how he meant to help us; but it is just like every one you do a favour
to--when they have got what they want, they forget all about you."
They walked on in silence; and the fellow kept on close in front of
them, singing as before, and always the same verse.
At last the Baroness got wearied with hearing the same thing over
and over again, and she began repeating the words over to herself,
mechanically. She could not make them out at all at first, for he
had a rough, abrupt articulation, but by dint of perseverance in an
occupation which served as a distraction to her agony, she at last
made it out, word by word:--
"The Wild Huntsman's betrothed (though he is not tamed)
To a lady fair
Driven to despair.
If she only knew he's Burzinigala named!"
"'Burzinigala named!' exclaimed the Baroness, with the ringing laugh
of former days, and clapping her hands merrily.
"I have it all right this time, you may depend, Heinrich!" and she
laughed again.
The Baron was too delighted for words--he embraced his wife in his
joy; and they walked on with a very different mien from what they
wore before. The first joy over, they turned to thank their helper;
but he had already disappeared, climbing over the tops of the trees
to get out of sight of the Wilder Jäger's eye for as long as might be.
There was no more lingering now, they hasted on, anxious only to
proclaim their triumph.
The ilex grove was soon reached, and the jewelled horn quickly produced
the Wilder Jäger.
To-day he was habited with greater care even than on the former
occasions, and there was also still more assurance in his manner,
and still more forwardness to flatter.
"Well, lady fair," he said, with a mocking air, "do you deem you have
guessed my name this time?"
"Really, it is so difficult," replied the lady, "that how can you
think I can hope to succeed? Besides, why should I wish to do what
would deprive me of so charming a companion?"
The Wilder Jäger in his turn was perturbed. Nothing could have made
him happier than to hear such words from her lips, could he have deemed
them sincere; but there was an irony in her tone and a playfulness in
her countenance which showed that her heart was not in her words. Yet
he felt convinced she could not discover his name; and so he knew not
what to think, and scarcely what to say. And the Baroness, delighting
in his confusion, continued teasing him, like a cat with a mouse.
After a good deal of this bantering, in which the Wilder Jäger got
quite bewildered, the Baroness rose majestically.
"Have we not had enough talking?" she said, with emphasis; "when are
you going to take me home--Sir Burzinigala?"
It would be impossible to describe the effect of this word. He rose
from the earth with one bound. The beauty, the calmness, the commanding
air, which had at one time charmed the Baroness, had all fled. Wild,
savage, and furious as he had first appeared and tenfold more, he now
showed; and the sparks flew from his eyes on all around. Through the
thick tops of the trees he passed, they hardly knew how; and soon the
only trace of him left was that of the sparks that smouldered on the
dry heath.
It only remained for the Baron and Baroness to return home, locked
in each other's arms. And they continued loving each other more than
ever before to the end of their days.
THE GRAVE PRINCE AND THE BENEFICENT CAT.
There once was a king in Tirol who had three sons. The eldest was grave
and thoughtful beyond his years; but he seldom spoke to any one, took
no pleasure in pastimes, and lived apart from those of his age. The
other two were clever and merry, always forward at any game, or at any
piece of fun, and passed all their time in merry-making and enjoyment.
Now though the eldest son was, by his character, more adapted to make
a wise and prudent sovereign, yet the two younger brothers, by their
lively, engaging manner, had made themselves much more popular in
the country; they were also the favourites of their father, but the
eldest was the darling of his mother.
The king was old and stricken in years, and would gladly have given
up the cares of government, and passed his declining years in peace,
but he could not make up his mind to which of the brothers he should
delegate his authority. The queen was persuaded of the excellent
capacity of her eldest son; but the two younger were always saying
he was half mad, and not fit to govern, and as they had the people
on their side, he greatly feared lest the kingdom should be involved
in civil war, so he always put off making any arrangement.
One day, however, an ancient counsellor observed to him, that if he
really feared that there would be a dispute about the succession,
it was much better to have it decided now while he was alive to act
as umpire, than that it should befall when they would be left to
wrangle with no one to make peace between them.
The king found the counsel good, and decided to retire from the
government, and to proclaim his eldest son king in his stead. When the
two younger sons, however, heard what he intended to do, they came
to him and urged their old charge, that their elder brother was not
fit to govern, and entreated the king to halve the kingdom between
them. But the king, anxious as he was to gratify them, yet feared to
displease the queen by committing so great an injustice against her
eldest son; and thus they were no further advanced than before.
Then the old counsellor who had offered his advice before spoke again,
and suggested that some task should be set for the three, and that
whoever succeeded in that should be king beyond dispute.
The three sons all swore to abide by this decision; and the king found
the counsel good. But now the difficulty arose, what should he set
them to do? for they had insisted so much on the weak intellect of
the eldest, that the queen feared lest, after all, he should fail in
the trial, and her care for him be defeated. She knew he had never
practised himself in feats of strength, or in the pursuit of arms,
so it was useless proposing such as these for the test, but she
persuaded him to set them something much simpler.
So, having called an assembly of all the people, he proclaimed
aloud that the three brothers should travel for a year and a day,
and whichever of them should bring him back the finest drinking-horn,
he should be the king--the three sons swearing to abide by his award.
The two younger brothers set out with a great retinue; and, as they
did not apprehend much difficulty in surpassing their brother in
whatever they might undertake, they spent the greater part of the year
allowed them in amusing themselves, secure in bringing back the best,
whatever they might bring.
The eldest set out alone through the forest. In his lonely wanderings
he had often observed a strangely beautiful castle on a far-off
mountain, concerning which he could find no record in any of his
books, nor could he learn that any one living knew any thing about
it. He now resolved to make his way thither, persuaded that if he was
to find something surpassing the work of human hands, it was like to
be in this enchanted castle.
Though it was so high-placed, the way was much easier than he thought,
and he was not more than five months getting there; so that he had
ample time for exploring its precincts, and yet get back within the
appointed date. He had, indeed, to traverse dark forests and steep
rocky paths, but when he got near the castle all these difficulties
ceased. Here there were only easy slopes of greensward, diapered
by sparkling flowers; broad-leaved trees throwing delicious shade;
and rills that meandered with a pleasant music. Delicious bowers
and arcades of foliage of sweet-scented plants invited to repose;
and every where luscious fruits hung temptingly within reach. Birds
sang on every branch with a soft, dreamy melody which soothed, and
disturbed not the lightest slumber.
The prince thought it would have been delightful to pass the remainder
of his days there, but he remembered that it was an important mission
with which he was entrusted, and he passed on.
A broad flight of marble steps led from these amenities up to the
palace, and every now and then a thousand little jets were turned on,
to pour their tiny floods over them, and cool them for the tread of
those who entered.
And yet no one was near, no one to enjoy all this magnificence! The
prince entered the hall, but no one came to meet him; he passed through
the long corridors--all were deserted; he entered one apartment after
another--still no one. At last he came to one charming boudoir all
hung with pink satin, and lace, and beautiful flowers. On a pink
satin sofa covered with lace sat a large Cat with soft grey fur,
and soft grey eyes--the first living thing he had met!
As he entered, the Cat rose to meet him, walking on her hind-paws,
and, holding out her right front-paw in the most gracious manner,
asked him, in a sweet, clear voice, if there was any thing she could
do for him. Then, as if the effort was too great, she let herself
down on all fours, and rubbed her soft grey head against his boots.
Finding her so friendly, he was going to take her up in his arms:
this she would not allow, however, but sprang with an agile bound on
to a ledge above his head. "And now tell me," said she, "what is it
you want me to do for you?"
"Really, Lady Purrer, you are so kind, you confuse me! But, to tell
you the truth, I fear--"
"You fear that a poor puss can't be of any use," interposed the
Cat, smartly, "and that your requirements are much above her feeble
comprehension. But never mind, tell me all the same; there is little
fear but that I can help you, and if I can't, the telling me will do
you no harm."
"Quite the contrary," replied the prince, "it will be a great pleasure
to have only your sympathy, for I am in great distress." Her voice
was so sweet and kind, that he quite forgot it was only a Cat he was
talking to.
"Poor prince!" said the Cat, soothingly; "tell me all about it,
then. But stop, I'll tell you first what I think. I'm sure you are not
appreciated at home. I saw it in your look when you first came in. You
don't look bright and enterprising, as you ought to look. You look
as if you lived too much alone. Oh, you would be twice as handsome
if you only looked a little more lively and energetic--" and then
she stopped short, and sneezed a great many times, as if she feared
she had said what was not quite proper, and some other sound would
efface that of her words.
"There is a great deal of truth in what you say," replied the prince;
"they don't care much about me at home--at least my mother does,
but my father and brothers don't. And I do live too much alone--but
it's not my fault: it's a bad way of mine, and I don't know how to
get out of it."
"You want some one to pet you, and spoil you, and make you very happy;
and then you would be pleased to go into the society of others, because
then you could say to yourself, I'll show them that there's some one
understands me and makes a fuss about me--" and she stopped short,
as before.
"But who should care to spoil and pet me?" cried the prince,
despondingly, and too much interested in her words to see any reason
why she should be confused at what she had said.
"Why, a nice little wife, to be sure!" replied the Cat.
"A wife!" exclaimed the prince; "oh yes, my father's grey-bearded
counsellors will find me some damsel whom it is necessary I should
marry for the peace of the kingdom; and to her I shall be tied, and,
be she an idiot or a shrew, I shall have no voice in the matter."
"But do you mean to say," retorted the Cat, in a more excited voice,
"that if you found a nice little princess--I don't say any one they
could with justice object to, but a real princess--who cared very
much for you, and made you very happy, very happy indeed, so that you
determined to marry her, that you wouldn't be man enough to say to your
father and all his counsellors, 'Here is the princess I mean to make
my wife; I feel Heaven intended her for me. I am sure she will be the
joy of my people, as she is mine, and no other shall share my throne'?"
"Wouldn't I," exclaimed the prince, with energy, starting to his feet,
and placing his hand instinctively on his sword, his eye flashing
and the colour mounting in his cheek.
"Ah! if you always looked like that! Now, you are handsome
indeed!" exclaimed the Cat, enthusiastically, and purred away. "But,"
she added, immediately after, "all this time you haven't told me what
it was you came for."
"Ah!" said the prince, despondingly, at finding himself thus recalled
to the prosaic realities of his melancholy life from that brief
dream of happiness. "No; because you have been talking to me of more
interesting things" (the Cat purred audibly); and then he told her
what it was had really brought him there.
"You see, your mother understands your character better than all
the rest," said the Cat. "She knew you could be trusted to prove
your superiority over your brothers, though the others hope you
may fail. However, fail you won't this time, for I can give you a
drinking-horn which neither your brothers nor any one else on earth
can match!"
With that she sprang lightly on to the soft carpet, and ran out of
the room, beckoning to him to follow her. She led him through a long
suite of rooms till they came to a large dining-hall all panelled
with oak and filled with dark carved-oak furniture. In the centre of
one end of this hall, high up in the panelling, was an inlaid safe or
tabernacle curiously wrought. Puss gave one of her agile springs on to
the top of this cabinet, and, having opened its folding-doors gently
with her paw, disclosed to view a drinking-horn such as the prince had
never seen. It was a white semi-transparent horn, but close-grained,
like ivory, and all finely carved with designs of curious invention;
the dresses of the figures were all made of precious stones cunningly
let in, and they sparkled with a vivid lustre, like so many lamps. Then
it had a rim, stand, and handle of massive gold exquisitely chased,
and adorned with rows of pearls and diamonds.
"Kind Lady Purrer," exclaimed the prince, "you are right, there is
no doubt of my success! But how can I ever sufficiently thank you
for what you have done for me? for I owe all to you."
"And a little to your own discernment too," said the Cat, archly. "And
now, always look as much alive and as bright as you do now, and you
will see people will think better of you."
"But when shall I see you again, most sweet counsellor? May I come
back and see you again?" pleaded the prince, and he tried to stroke
her sleek fur as she rubbed her soft grey head, purring, against
his boots. The stroking, however, she would by no means allow, but
springing again on to the top of the cabinet, she said,--
"Oh, yes; it will not be long before you will have to come back to me,
I know. But go, now; you have spent more time here than you think,
and you have only just enough left to get back within the year."
The prince turned to obey her; and the Cat jumped down, and ran by his
side, purring. When he got out into the grounds again, she followed
him, climbing from tree to tree; and when he came to the boundary-wall
she ran all along on the coping. But here at last they had to part,
to her great regret, and for many a lonely mile he still heard her
low and plaintive mew.
It was true, he must have spent more time in her pleasant company than
he had thought, for when he reached home he found the day of trial
had arrived; the streets were deserted, and all the people gathered
in the palace to see the drinking-horns his brothers had brought,
and talking loudly of their magnificence. He passed through their
midst without being recognized, for the people knew him so little;
and thus he heard them speak of his younger brothers:--
"What bright faces they have! and what a merry laugh! it does the
heart good to hear them," said one.
"I wonder how the kingdom will be divided, and which half will be to
which of them," said another.
"For my part, I don't care to the lot of which I fall, for both are
excellent good fellows," replied a third.
And thus they had clearly settled in their own mind that his brothers
had carried the day, and they didn't even trouble themselves to
think what he would bring, or whether he would come back at all. It
was the same thing all the way along. The words were varied, but the
same idea prevailed every where, that the younger brothers had made
good their claim; there was no question at all of the eldest. The
prince's face was growing moody again; but just then one good woman,
wiping the soap-suds from her hands as she turned from her washing at
the river to join the throng, exclaimed, as she heard some neighbours
talking thus, "Hoity toity! it's all very well with you and your
laughing princes--a grave one for me, say I! Laughing may lead a man
to throw away his money, but it won't teach him to feed the poor,
or govern a kingdom. Wait till the Grave Prince comes back! I'll
warrant he'll bring the bravest drinking-horn!"
A chorus of mocking laughter greeted her defence of him.
"He bring the bravest drinking-horn!" said one.
"Don't believe he knows what a drinking-horn is for--or drink
either!" said another.
"No; his brothers understand that best, at all events. I like a man
who can drink his glass."
"And I like one who doesn't drink it, whether he can or not; but
keeps his head clear for his business," said the good wife who had
defended him before.
And as there were a good many who were too fond of the bottle in the
crowd, the laugh raised at him was turned against them.
He had one defender, then, in all that mass of people, but all the
rest judged him incapable, and without trial! He was too disheartened,
to make his way into the great hall where the success of his brothers
was being proclaimed, but instead trod sadly and secretly up to his
mother's chamber.
The queen was too distressed at the absence of her favourite son to
take part in the jocular scene below, and was seated, full of anxiety,
at her window, watching.
"What do you here, my son?" she exclaimed, when he entered; "you have
but one short half-hour more, and the time will be expired. The sun is
already gone down, and the time once past, whatever you have brought,
it will avail you not! Haste, my son, to the council-hall!"
"It is useless, mother; all are against me!" cried the prince; and
he laid the beautiful flagon on the table, and sank upon a chair.
In the mean time it had grown dark, but the queen, impelled by her
curiosity to know what success her son had had, pulled off the wrapper
that enclosed the drinking-horn, and instantly the apartment was
brilliantly lighted by the light of the precious stones with which
it was studded!
"My son, this is a priceless work! This is worth a kingdom! Nothing
your brothers can have brought can compare with this--haste, then,
my son!" and she led him along.
It was dark in the council-hall too; but when the queen had dragged
her son up to the throne where the king sat, she uncovered the flagon,
and the sparkling stones sent their radiance into every part.
Then there was one shout of praise. The drinking-horns of the younger
brothers, which had anon been so highly extolled, were no more thought
of, and every one owned that the Grave Prince had won the trial.
The king declared it was too late for any more business that night,
the proclamation of the new sovereign would be made the next morning;
and in the meantime they all retired to rest, the Grave Prince with
some new sensations of satisfaction and hope, and the queen assured
of the triumph of her son.
But in the silent night, when all were wrapt in slumber, and the king
could not sleep for the anxiety and perplexity which beset him as to
his successor, the two young brothers came to him and complained that
they had been circumvented. The Grave Prince had always shown himself
so gloomy and unenergetic, it was impossible they could conceive he
was going to distinguish himself, so they had taken no trouble to
beat him; but if their father would but allow another trial, they
would undertake he should not have the advantage of them again.
So the next day, instead of proclaiming the new sovereign, the king
announced that he had determined there should be a fresh trial
of skill; and whichever of the princes should bring him the best
hunting-whip, that day year, should have the crown.
The princes set off next day on their travels once more, the eldest
son of course directing his towards the castle of the Beneficent Cat.
This time he had not to traverse a file of deserted halls before
meeting her; she sat looking out for him on the coping of the wall
where he had left her mewing so piteously when he last parted from her.
"I told you it would not be long before you would have to come back
to me," she said, as he approached. "What can I do for you this time?"
"My brothers are discontented at being beaten with your beautiful
beaker," replied the prince, gallantly, "and they have demanded another
trial: this time my father sends us in quest of a hunting-whip."
"A hunting-whip?" echoed the Cat; "that is lucky, for I can suit you
with one neither they nor any one else on this earth can surpass!" and
she frisked merrily along the path before him till they came to the
stables; then she took him into a room where all manner of saddles,
and horse-gear, and hunting-horns were stored. But on a high ledge,
at the very top of the room, was a dusty hunting-whip of the most
unpretending appearance. With one of her bold springs she reached
the ledge, and jumped down again with this whip in her mouth.
"It is not much to look at, I own," she said, as she observed the
perplexed look with which the prince surveyed the present; "but
its excellent qualities are its recommendation. You have but to
crack this whip, and your horse will take any thing you put him at,
be it a river half a mile wide, or a tree fifty feet high. There
are plenty of horses in the stable, saddle any of them you like,
and make experience of it for yourself."
The prince did as she bid him; and at sound of the enchanted whip
his mount leapt with equal ease over hills and valleys.
"This is a whip indeed!" exclaimed the prince, his face flushed with
the unwonted exercise, and his heart beating high at the idea of
being the bearer of such a prize.
"Ah, that's how I like to see you!" said the friendly puss; "I like
to see you like that. Now you are handsome indeed!" and she scampered
away, as if coyly ashamed of what she had said.
It was not long before she returned; and then she invited the prince
into the next room, where an elegant dinner was laid out, of which
the Cat did the honours very demurely. A high divan was arranged
at the top of the table, on which she reclined, and ate and lapped
alternately out of the plates ready before her, while invisible
attendants served the viands and filled the glasses.
When they had finished their meal, they went out to repose in the
flowery bowers; and when the heat of the day was past, the Beneficent
Cat reminded her guest that he must be thinking of going home, if he
would not that his brothers should supplant him.
"Must I go so soon, sweet Lady Purrer?" replied the prince. "I know
not how to part from you; it seems I should be happy if I were always
with you. I have never felt so happy any where before!"
"You are very gallant, prince," responded the Cat, "and you have no
idea how well it becomes you to look as you do now; but the affairs
of your kingdom must be your first thought. You must first secure
your succession--and then we must look out for the nice little wife
we talked of last time."
"Ah," sighed the Grave Prince, "don't talk of that--that is not
for me! No one beautiful enough for me to care about will ever care
for me!"
"Not if you look desponding and gloomy, like that," replied the
Cat. "Do you know, you look quite like another being when you look
so gloomy; and yet you can be so handsome when you look bright and
hopeful! But now," she proceeded, laying her soft paw on his arm
to arrest the futile justification which rose to his lips, "before
you go, I have something very important to tell you. You will now go
back, and with the hunting-whip I have given you, you are safe to win
the trial which is to establish your right to the kingdom. But there
will be yet another trial exacted of you, and you will have to come
back again to me. What you are to do then, I must tell you now, for
it requires great prudence and courage, and one principal thing is,
that you don't say a word to me all the time. Can you promise that?"
"Well, that is hard indeed," said the prince; "but still, if you
command it, I think I can promise to obey, for the sake of pleasing
you."
"Then the next thing is harder. Do you think you can do whatever
I command?"
"Oh yes, I am sure I can promise that!" replied the prince, warmly.
"Mind, whatever I command, then--however hard, or however dreadful
it may be?"
"Yes, any thing--however hard, or however dreadful!"
"But will you swear it?"
"I see you doubt my courage," said the prince, half offended. "You
take me for a fool, like the rest. But no wonder; I know I look like
a fool!"
"Now don't look gloomy again! you were so handsome just now when
you said so firmly you would do 'any thing.' Will you gratify me
by swearing?"
"You doubt my courage."
"No; I don't doubt your courage. But I know how terrible a thing I
have to command you; and I know how many others have failed before
you. Now will you not swear, but to please me?"
"Yes; I swear," said the prince, energetically, "to do whatever it
may be that you tell me to do."
"Now, remember, you have undertaken it solemnly. This is what you
must do. When you come in, you will find me sitting on the kitchen
stove; you must then seize me by my two hind-paws, and dash me upon
the hearthstone till there is nothing left of me in your hands,
but the fur!"
"Oh dear! I can never do that!" exclaimed the prince, in great
embarrassment.
"But you have sworn to do whatever I told you!" replied the Cat.
"Well, but I thought you were going to order me to do something
rational, something noble and manly, requiring courage and
strength--not a horrible act like this."
"If it is the thing that has to be done, it does not matter what it
is. Besides, it does require courage, great courage; and that is why
I would not tell you first what it was, because others have failed
when they knew what it was."
"And you expect me to have less feeling and affection for you than
they?"
"No; but I expect more sense and judgment of you. I expect you to
understand and believe that if I say it has to be done, it is really
for the best, and that you will trust to me that it is right. And I
expect that you will respect your promise, which was made without
limit or exception. But now, go; you have no time to lose, if you
want to reach home with the hunting-whip in time for the trial."
He rose to leave; and she followed him down the path, purring by
his side. And after she had taken leave of him at the boundary-wall,
he heard her mewing sad adieus as he went on for many a weary mile.
When the prince reached the council-hall, he found, as before,
that his brothers were there first, and that every one seemed to
have decided that they had won the day--in fact no one showed any
curiosity to know what he would bring. As he had beaten them by his
lustrous jewels before, they had fancied he would bring something of
the same sort again; so, to conquer him on his own ground, they had
sought out and found two handles of hunting-whips mounted with jewels
as sparkling as those of his drinking-horn. When they saw him come
in with the shabby old whip the Beneficent Cat had given him, they
laughed outright in his face; and the king, in a fit of indignation,
ordered him to leave the hall for venturing to insult him by bringing
such a present. Some laughed him to scorn, and some abused him; but no
one would listen to a word he had to say. At last the tumult was so
great that it reached the queen's ears; and when she had learnt what
was the matter, she insisted that he should have a hearing allowed
him. When silence had been proclaimed the Grave Prince said,--
"It is true, my whip is not so splendid as that of my brothers, but
jewels are out of place on a hunting-whip, it seems to me; the handle
is wanted to be smooth, so that the hand may take a firm grip of it,
rather than to be covered with those points and unevennesses. The
merit of my whip is not in the handle, it is in the lash, which has
such excellent qualities, that you have but to crack it, and your
horse will immediately take you over any obstruction there may be in
your way--be it a house or a mountain, or what you will. If you will
allow me, I will give you proof of its powers."
Then they all adjourned to the terrace in front of the council-hall,
where was a fine avenue of lofty cypresses; and the queen ordered
a horse to be brought round from the stables. The people had never
seen the prince on horseback before; and when they saw him looking so
gallant, and noble, and determined, they could not forbear cheering
him, till his younger brothers began to fear that his real worth
would soon be found out, and their malice exposed.
Then the prince cracked his whip--and away went the horse over the tops
of the high trees, seeming to scrape the clouds as he passed. All
the people were lost in admiration, no one had ever seen such a
sight before; and while they were wondering whether it was possible
he could have reached the ground in safety from such a height, there
was a murmur in the air, and they saw him coming back again over the
tree-tops. With no more apparent effort than if he had merely taken
a hedge, he came softly to the ground; and then, kneeling gracefully
before his father on one knee, without a word of boasting or reproach,
he laid the clever whip at his feet.
The king raised him up, and said, aloud to the people, none could deny
that it was this whip that had won the trial, but that as it was now
late, he must leave the ceremony of proclaiming his successor till
the morrow.
All went home for the night, and the old king also went to bed; but he
could not sleep for anxiety, thinking of the anger and dissatisfaction
of his younger sons. And presently, in the silent hour, they came
to him, and said that he must allow them another trial; that it
was impossible they could conceive he meant them to bring him a
fantastical whip of that sort, or of course they would have brought
one which could do much better things. They thought it was the beauty
of the workmanship they had to look to, and so they had provided for
nothing else. They urged their suit so persistently, that the king,
who was now very old and weak, agreed to let them have their way.
Accordingly, next morning he had it proclaimed that the three princes
were to make one trial more; and that whichever brought back the most
beautiful and virtuous princess for his wife should have the crown.
The three princes set out again early the next morning; the two younger
ones providing themselves with jewels and riches, and many precious
things for presents; the eldest taking nothing, but walking off alone
towards the enchanted castle with a heavy heart. "It is all up with
me now," he said to himself, "after all! Why couldn't my father have
been satisfied when I had beaten them twice? Now I have to kill the
Beneficent Cat--the only being that ever assisted me; and then I shall
have no one to help me at all! They will come back with two beautiful
princesses, and I shall come back looking like a fool, because no
princess will ever come with me--and they will take my kingdom, and
laugh at me into the bargain! If it was not for my mother, I would
never come back at all; but it would break her heart if I stayed away,
and she is the only one of them who understands me and cares for me."
As he got nearer the castle, he grew more and more sad. "Why did she
make me swear? If it hadn't been for that, I could still have escaped
doing it; but now I cannot break my oath;" and he trudged on.
The gardens looked more lovely than ever. The scent of the flowers
seemed sweeter, and the melody of the birds more soothing. All was
full of harmony--and he who had never harmed a fly must cruelly use
the soft and beautiful Cat who had so befriended him!
He passed through the apartments where puss had purred round him so
happily--the dining-room where they had had their pleasant repast
together--the boudoir where she had given him such wise counsel.
At last he came to the kitchen; and there, sure enough, was the Cat
cosily curled round, her soft grey head buried in her long grey fur.
An energy and daring he had never known before seemed suddenly to
possess him. He took care not to speak, for she had particularly
recommended silence; but, approaching her on tiptoe, seized her rapidly
by her hind-paws before she had time to wake from her pleasant slumber,
and dashed her several times upon the hearth, scarcely knowing what
he did in his horror, till he perceived that he had nothing left in
his hand but the soft, limp, grey fur.
He sank upon the ground in tears, and commenced laying it out tenderly
before him, when he was woken from his reverie by a mellow ringing
laugh, which made him look up--and there before him stood the most
beautiful, fairy-like princess that ever was seen on this earth!
"Well done, kind prince! you have nobly kept your word. And see what
I have gained thereby--instead of that grey fur, I now have a form
which will perhaps make me meet to fulfil the condition your father
has imposed on you for obtaining your throne!"
Her voice, and the glance of her soft eyes, seemed quite familiar
to him--it was the voice which had first inspired him with hope and
enterprise, and the mild light which had beamed on him when he said he
could be happy to be always near her in her bower. How much more now,
when she appeared in such matchless guise!
He remained kneeling at her feet, and asked her if it was indeed true
that she could love him and be with him always as his wife.
"Nay," she replied, raising him up; "it is I who ought to be
astonished. I have nothing to refuse, for I owe you all; and as,
but for you, I should still be nothing but a poor grey Cat, I belong
to you, and am absolutely yours. It is I who have to be astonished,
and to ask you if it is possible you who have known me as a Cat can
really love me and regard me as worthy to be indeed your wife."
"You are mocking me again, I see," he replied; "but you do not
really think me so insensible as not to appreciate your beauty,
and the prudence and generosity of which you have given me such
abundant proof? No; if you will come with me, I have no fear but that
I shall win the trial this time beyond all possibility of demanding
another." He spoke warmly, and his face beamed with joy. The princess
was leaning on his arm, and looked up in his face as he spoke.
"Ah, now you do look!--No, I suppose I mustn't say it now I have
no longer my cat-disguise to hide my blushes," she said, archly;
and they passed on into the reception-hall.
The attendants were no longer invisible. Together with their mistress
they had received their forms and original life; and the corridors
and apartments were filled with her people bustling to serve her. A
banquet was prepared in the dining-hall; and when they had partaken
of it, and had regaled themselves in the bower with happy talk, the
princess reminded the prince--now no longer grave--that it was time
for them to be going back to his father. A great train of carriages
and horses were brought round, with mounted guards and running-footmen,
and all the retinue which became a noble princess.
The princess was carried in a litter by six men in embroidered
liveries, and her ladies with her; and the prince rode on horseback,
close by her side.
This time, though it was near the close of the last day, his brothers
had not appeared when he reached the council-hall. The king and the
queen received the Beneficent Princess with smiles and admiration,
and all the people praised her beauty; and the queen said,--
"There is no fear, my son, that your brothers can demand another
trial this time."
Before she had done speaking, a messenger was hastily ushered into
the hall, covered with dust and stains of travel. He came from the
two younger princes, and had a sorrowful tale to tell.
They had striven to obtain the hands of the princesses of the
neighbouring kingdom; but the king was a prudent sovereign, and
discerned their envious, selfish character. When they found he repulsed
their advances, they had endeavoured to carry off the princesses by
force; but the king had surprised them in the midst of their design,
and had had them shut up as midnight robbers.
The old king was in great distress when he heard the news, for
his sons had manifestly been taken in the midst of wrong-doing,
and he could not defend their acts nor avenge their shame. But the
eldest son took on himself the mission of pacifying the neighbouring
sovereign and delivering his brothers. Having accomplished which, they
were fain to acknowledge that he was not only victor in the trials,
but their deliverer also; and they swore to maintain peace with him,
and obey him as hi
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