THE COLD HEART

THE COLD HEART.

IF ever you should travel through the country of Suabia you should take a peep at the Black Forest, not only that you may admire the magnificent pine-trees, but that you may study the people living there, for they are quite unlike any of their neighbours. The inhabitants of the Black Forest near the town of Baden are tall and broad and it would almost seem as though the invigorating scent of the pine-trees had strengthened their bodies and their characters too, for they are fearless, frank and honest. Their principal industries are glass-making and clock-making. The costume they wear, too, is different from the ordinary run of peasants, and gives them a strange and somewhat dignified appearance.

The Little Glass-man.

On the other side of the Forest, although of the same race, the inhabitants are, on account of 208] the different occupations they pursue, somewhat different in their manners and customs. These people work chiefly in the Forest as wood-cutters and timber-merchants. They fell their pine-trees and then float them down the Nagold to the Neckar, down the Neckar to the Rhine, even travelling as far as Holland, the rafts of the Black Forest being known upon the sea-coast. They stop their rafts at every town they come to, so that folks may buy their timber if they have a mind to; but the broadest and tallest beams and masts are sold to the Dutch ship-builders for a good round sum of money. These men, accustomed to a rough, wandering life, are as different in character from the people living in the other part of the Forest as their costumes differ.

The men living in the neighbourhood of Baden wear black jackets, closely pleated trousers, red stockings, and peaked hats; the woodmen, however, wear jackets of dark coloured linen, broad green braces, black leather breeches, from one of the pockets of which a brass foot rule protrudes, but their chief pride is in their boots, which reach nearly to their middle, so that the raftsmen can wade through fairly deep water without wetting their feet.

At one time it was believed that two spirits inhabited the Black Forest; the one, known as “The Little Glass-man,” was a good little spirit, and but three feet and a half in height, and was always to be seen dressed in the same costume as the glass-makers or clock-makers wore; but Dutch 209] Michael, who haunted the further side of the Forest, was a broad-shouldered giant and was dressed like a raftsman. Some of the wood-cutters who had seen him declared his boots were so big that an ordinary full-grown man could have stood upright in one of them and yet not have reached to the top of it.

A young Black Forester, named Peter Munk, is said to have had a very extraordinary adventure with these two wood-spirits. Peter lived with his mother, who was a widow, in the very heart of the Forest. His father had been a charcoal burner and after his death the mother trained her son to the same employment.

At first Peter was content to follow his father’s occupation and to sit by his sooty kiln, as black as soot himself, and now and again to drive into the towns and villages to sell his charcoal. But he had plenty of time for reflection and it gradually began to occur to him that his lot was not a very happy one. He thought how smart the glass-makers and clock-makers looked, decked out in their best clothes on Sunday. “But,” said he to himself, “if I were to put on my father’s jacket with its silver buttons, and encase my legs in bright red stockings and swagger down the street, folks would say, ‘’Tis only Peter Munk, the charcoal burner, after all.’”

The wood-cutters, raftsmen and timber-merchants were also objects of his envy. Whenever these forest giants came into the village in their splendid 210] costumes, decked out with silver buttons and buckles and chains, and stood with their great legs wide apart, watching the dance perhaps, using strange Dutch oaths, and smoking long pipes from Cologne, he would say to himself—“Ah! what happiness to be a man like that!” Sometimes one of these fortunate beings would lunge a hand into his pocket and bring out a handful of florins and commence to gamble with them; six batzen at a time they would risk at dice, and Peter had seen one of the richest timber-merchants lose in a night more money than he or his father had ever earned in a year, and yet not seem greatly upset over the loss of the money.

At these times Peter would feel half beside himself and would steal away to his lonely hut consumed with rage and jealousy.

There were three men in particular who excited his admiration and envy. One was a tall stout man, with a very red face, who was said to be the richest man in the country. He was called “Fat Ezekiel.”

Twice a year he journeyed to Amsterdam and was always lucky in getting a better price for his timber than anyone else, so that he could travel back in state, whilst his neighbours had to get back as best they could.

The second man was the tallest and thinnest man in the whole Forest and was nicknamed the Long-legged Lounger, and Peter Munk envied him his extraordinary impudence, for he would flatly contradict 211] the most important personages, and no matter how crowded the inn might be he would take up four times as much room as the fattest men; he would plant his elbows on the table, or stretch his long legs upon a bench, and no one ventured to expostulate, because he was so immensely rich.

The third man, however, was young and handsome, and was the best dancer in the district, so that he was known far and wide as the King of the Dancers. He had at one time been very poor and acted as servant to one of the timber merchants, but suddenly he had become enormously rich. Some said he had found a pot of gold, others affirmed he had fished up a parcel of gold pieces from the bottom of the river, which had been part of the lost Nibelungen treasure; but, no matter how he had attained it, the fact remained that he had suddenly become very rich indeed and was looked upon as little short of a prince by his less lucky friends and companions.

Peter Munk’s mind was often occupied by the good fortune of these three men, as he sat alone in the forest or by his fire!

It is true that all three of them were hated by their neighbours on account of their unnatural avarice and their want of feeling for those who owed them money, or for the poor, but though they were hated they were treated with respect on account of their money, for they could afford to scatter it about as the pine-trees scattered their needles.

“Alas!” sighed Peter one day, “I can stand my 212] poverty no longer; would that I were as rich and respected as Fat Ezekiel, or as impudent and powerful as the Long-legged Lounger, or as fine a dancer as the Dance King and be able to throw florins to the fiddlers instead of pence. Where do these fellows get their money from?”

In thinking of ways and means by which he might amass money, he at length remembered the stories the people used to tell of the little Glass-man and Dutch Michael. In his father’s lifetime they had frequently been visited by folks as poor as themselves, and the conversation would turn to rich folks and how they had acquired their money, and the little Glass-man had not infrequently played a prominent part in the conversation. He even thought he could remember the little verse it was necessary to recite in the Forest if one wished to summon the little man; it began:

Owner of all in the pine woods green,

Many a hundred years thou hast seen,

Thine all the land where the pine-trees grow—

But there he stopped short, and strive as he would he could not remember the rest of the verse.

He thought about asking some of the old men who had been his father’s friends, but a certain shyness prevented his mentioning the little Glass-man and so betraying perhaps what was in his mind. There were very few rich people in the Forest and he wondered why some of them had not tried their luck with the wood-spirits. At last he persuaded his mother to talk about the little man; but she could 213] tell him little more than he knew already. Moreover, she could only remember the first line of the verse; but finally she said the spirit only showed himself to folks born on a Sunday between the hours of eleven and two.

“Had you but known the charm,” said she, “you might have summoned the Little Man yourself, for you were born at mid-day on a Sunday.”

On hearing this Peter Munk was nearly beside himself with impatience to set out upon this adventure. Surely the portion of the verse he knew would prove sufficient to summon the little Glass-man to a Sunday’s child like himself.

Peter Munk sat alone in the forest. (P. 211.)

So one day when he had managed to sell all his charcoal, instead of kindling a new fire he dressed himself in his father’s best jacket and red stockings, put the pointed hat upon his head and, taking his five foot blackthorn staff in his hand, bade good-bye to his mother. “It will soon be time to draw lots and decide who is to go for a soldier, and I am 214] going to the magistrate to remind him that as you are a widow and I your only son I am exempt from serving in the army,” said he.

His mother praised him for his thoughtfulness and he set out towards a particular clump of black pines.

This spot was the highest point in the Black Forest and there was not a village nor a hut for some miles around it, for the superstitious people thought it was haunted. Although the trees there grew thick and tall they were never felled, for it was said that when anyone had attempted to do so terrible accidents occurred. Sometimes the axe had sprung from the haft and buried itself in the man’s foot, or a stubborn tree trunk that seemed to defy the stroke of the axe fell suddenly and crushed the wood-cutter, injuring him severely and even killing him. Even the finest tree could but be used for fuel, for the raftsmen would not take a single log from this particular clump, for it was said that it would bring them bad luck and that raft and raftsmen would sink.

And so it chanced that the trees grew thicker and taller, excluding every ray of sunshine, so that even in the daytime it was dark as night there, and Peter Munk’s courage began to fail him as he reached the spot, for there was not a sound to be heard, no voice, no footstep except his own, the stroke of no axe resounded, and even the birds seemed to have deserted the place.

THE COLD HEART “This” thought he “must surely be the abode of the Glass-man” (p. 217)

Peter reached the highest point of the mountain and stood before a pine-tree of tremendous girth, for 217] which a Dutch ship-builder would have given many a hundred florins. “This,” thought he, “must surely be the abode of the Glass-man,” and so he drew his hat from his head, bowed low, and said with a trembling voice:—

“Good-evening, Master Glass-man,” but there was not a sound in reply. “Perhaps I had better try the little verse,” he thought, and began in flattering tones:

“Owner of all in the pine woods green,

Many a hundred years thou hast seen,

Thine all the lands where the pine-trees grow—”

As he spoke he saw to his terror a strange little figure peeping out from behind the big tree trunk. It seemed to be dressed exactly as he had heard in the black vest, red stockings, and pointed hat. Even the pale, clever little face he seemed to see for a moment; but it disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Master Glass-man,” cried Peter in trembling tones, “I pray you do not make sport of me. If you think I did not see you you are mistaken.” But there was no reply, beyond a faint chuckle from behind the tree.

At length his impatience overcame his fear—“Wait awhile, my fine fellow,” he cried angrily, “I will soon catch you.” He made a bound towards the tree and darted round to the other side. But there was no Glass-man there, only a dainty little squirrel that scampered up the trunk of the tree.

Peter Munk shook his head. He perceived clearly 218] that his failure was on account of his not knowing the concluding line of the verse, but ponder as he might he could not call it to memory. The squirrel showed itself upon the lower branches of the pine-tree and appeared to mock and make sport of him. It dressed its fur, waved its bushy tail, gazed at him with its bright clever eyes, but at length he was half afraid of it, for one moment it seemed to have a man’s head and to wear a pointed hat, the next moment it was like any ordinary squirrel, then suddenly its hind legs became clothed with red stockings and black shoes. In short it was quite the strangest little creature Peter Munk had ever seen and he was afraid of it, and so he turned and left the spot quicker than he had gone there.

It seemed to him that the woods grew darker and thicker as he ran, until he became possessed of an absolute terror, and it was not until he heard the barking of dogs in the distance that he slackened his pace, then, as a peasant’s hut burst on his astonished gaze, he found that in his fright he had been running in the opposite direction to that which he had intended, and instead of arriving at the dwellings of the glass-makers he had come out amongst the wood-cutters and raftsmen.

The people who lived in this particular cottage were wood-cutters, and the family consisted of an old man, his son, the master of the house, and his family.

Peter Munk approached them and asked if they could give him a night’s lodging, and they received him kindly and hospitably, never so much as asking 219] for his name or where he came from. They gave him cider to drink and in the evening they roasted a large woodcock for his supper, one of the daintiest morsels to be had in the Black Forest.

When they had made a good meal the housewife and her daughters seated themselves round a big blaze of light, which the youths kindled from the resinous pine-wood, and commenced plying their distaffs, the old grandfather, the guest, and the master sat smoking and watching the women at their work, but the young men of the family busied themselves fashioning wooden spoons and forks.

Out in the woods a storm raged and howled amongst the pine-trees. Now and again there was the sound of a falling tree or the cracking of branches as they were torn from the parent stem. The fearless youths would have run out into the wood in order to watch the fearful but grand spectacle, but their grandfather forbade them.

“No one wandering in the wood to-night would ever return,” said he. “Without doubt Dutch Michael is abroad and seeks a new raft-load in the forest.”

The boys had heard many a time of Dutch Michael; but nevertheless they begged their grandfather to tell them a story about him. Peter Munk, too, who had only heard vague reports about him in his own part of the country, joined his requests to that of the boys and asked him to tell him who he really was and where he lived.

“Why, to think you don’t know that now,” said the old man. “You must have come from the other 220] side of the forest then, if not further away. I will tell you all I know of Dutch Michael.

“Some hundreds of years ago, so the story goes, there were no more honest and respectable folks to be found far and wide than the Black Foresters. It is only since so much money came into the country that folks have become dishonest and wicked. Nowadays on a Sunday young men dance and smoke, and swear, enough to make one’s hair stand on end, but in those days it was different, and even though he stands at the window and hears me say it, I maintain that Dutch Michael is at the root of all the evil.

“More than a hundred years ago there lived a rich timber merchant, who had many work-people and whose business was carried on from here to far down the Rhine. He was a good pious man and a blessing rested on all his ventures.

“One evening there came to his door a man the like of whom he had never seen before. He wore the dress of a Black Forester, but he was a great deal taller than the tallest man and one could scarcely believe it possible for there to be such a giant.

“He asked for work and the merchant, seeing that he looked so strong and likely to be able to carry heavy burdens, asked what wages he required and soon came to terms with him.

“Michael was the man’s name, and such a workman his master had never had before. When it came to hewing trees, he was worth three other men, and when the timber had to be carried away, though there were six men at the end of a trunk he would take 221] the other end by himself and make no labour of it at all.

“At the end of half a year he came to his master and said he was tired of felling timber and would like to go with the rafts and see the places the timber went to.”

“‘Well,’ said his master, ‘I will not stand in your way. It is true that you are more useful to me as a wood-cutter, for strong men are needed for such hard work, whereas one has need of skill and dexterity rather than strength upon a raft. However, this once you shall go.’

“And so it came to pass, and he was to set out with a raft consisting of eight portions, all being connected. But on the evening before they were to start Michael brought down to the river’s edge eight more huge trees, the biggest and longest that had ever been seen, and each one he carried upon his shoulder as easily as though it had been his raft-pole. To this day no one knows where they had been felled.

“The timber merchant’s heart rejoiced, for he reckoned this timber would fetch a vast sum; but Michael only said—‘They are for a raft for myself. I could not very well manage on the other little rafts.’

“His master offered him a pair of raftsmen’s boots, in return for the service he had done him, but Michael thrust them aside and produced a pair such as never were seen before. My grandfather assured me they must have weighed a hundred pounds at least and were five or six feet high.

“The raft set out and, just as he had astonished 222] the wood-cutters, now he made the raftsmen open their eyes.

“They had believed, when they saw the huge additional portion Michael had attached to the raft, that it would travel much slower on that account. But not so, as soon as it reached the Neckar it darted ahead like an arrow. When they came to a sharp bend in the river, whereas the raftsmen would formerly have had some trouble to keep the raft in the middle of the stream, and not to run it aground, now, Michael just sprang into the water and with one mighty push turned the raft either to left or right until the danger was past.

“When they came to a straight stretch he would run along the different portions of the raft until he came to the front one, and then, bidding all the men put by their poles he would stick his own enormous pole into the gravelly river-bed and send the raft rushing forward at such a pace that trees, country, villages, all seemed flying past. And so it came about that they reached Cologne in less than half the time it usually took. Here the raftsmen had been wont to sell all their timber; but Michael now dissuaded them from doing this.

“‘You are fine merchants,’ said he, ‘you don’t know how to protect your own interests. Do you suppose the people of Cologne need all the wood they purchase from the Black Forest for themselves? Not they! They give you about half what it is really worth and sell it again at a dearer rate in Holland. Let us sell the smaller timber here and take the larger 223] trees to Holland, and whatever we make over and above the usual price will be our profit.’

Michael made the raftsmen open their eyes. (P. 222.)

“So spoke the crafty Michael, and his companions 224] were only too ready to follow his advice, some because they wanted to go to Holland to see the country and some because they liked the idea of the extra money. Only one man amongst them remained honest, and he begged the rest not to endanger his master’s property risking the troublesome journey to Holland, or at least if they went there not to cheat the merchant out of the better price that they sold the wood for. But they would not listen to him and soon forgot his words, that is to say, with the exception of Michael. So they floated down the Rhine, Michael steering the raft, and very soon they reached Rotterdam.

“Here they obtained four times the usual price for the wood, the huge trunks Michael had added fetching in particular a very high price. The Black Foresters were delighted at the sight of so much gold. Michael divided it, one portion for the master and three portions to be divided between the raftsmen.

“The men at once began to waste their money in the inns, drinking and gambling with sailors and all sorts of rabble and dishonest folks. The one honest man amongst them Dutch Michael sold to a press-gang man and he was carried off and never heard of again. From that time Holland became the Black Foresters’ Paradise and Dutch Michael was their king. It was some time before the timber merchants discovered the truth of the matter, and so it gradually came about that riches, oaths, bad habits, drinking and gambling were introduced from Holland into the Black Forest.

“When the whole story did come out, however, 225] Dutch Michael was nowhere to be found. But he is not dead, and for over a hundred years he has haunted our forest, and it is said he has helped many a one to become rich, but at the cost of his poor soul. I will say no more about that, still it is very certain that on stormy nights such as the present, he seeks out the finest trees from the portion of the forest where it is forbidden to fell timber; my own father saw him break one that was full four feet thick as though it had been a reed. This timber he gives to those who have left the straight path of honesty and gone to him for help. At midnight he helps them to carry the wood to the river, and steers the rafts down the streams for them until they reach Holland.

“But if I were King in Holland, I would have them sunk with shot to the bottom of the stream, for every ship that carries but a single board or beam sold by Dutch Michael is bound to sink. That is why one hears of so many shipwrecks. How else could it be that a fine ship, as large as a church should go to the bottom of the sea? Every time Dutch Michael fells a tree in the forest, a plank in some ship bursts, the water penetrates and the good ship is lost with all hands.

“That is the story of Dutch Michael, and it is quite true that it was he who introduced everything that is bad in the Black Forest. He can make one as rich as a dream,” he added mysteriously, “but I would rather be without his wealth, and not for the whole world would I stand in the shoes of Fat Ezekiel or the Long-legged Lounger, and it is said that the Dance King had given up his soul to him also.”

226] The storm had blown over during the old man’s recital and now the maidens timidly lit their lamps and crept away to bed, and the men placed a sack of leaves for a pillow for Peter Munk upon the bench in the chimney corner, and wishing him good-night, left him to himself.

Charcoal Peter, as he was usually called, had terrible dreams that night. He thought that the grim gigantic form of Dutch Michael came to the window and, forcing it open, stretched a long arm through the space and shook a purse of gold pieces at Peter. The money clinked musically in his ears. The next moment however, who should appear but the little Glass-man. He rode here and there in the air upon a huge green glass bottle and Peter thought he could hear the low chuckling he had heard in the clump of black pines; then suddenly he caught the sound of a hoarse voice booming in his left ear these words:

“In Holland there’s gold to be had

For the asking, so wherefore be sad?

Dutch Michael has gold, glitt’ring gold,

Come to him, then, for riches untold.”

Then in his right ear he heard the three lines of the little Glass-man’s verse recited and a soft voice whispered, “Foolish Charcoal Peter, foolish Peter Munk, can’t you think of a word to rhyme with ‘grow’ and you born at mid-day on a Sunday, too? For shame, Peter, come try for a rhyme, try for a rhyme.” Peter groaned and sighed in his sleep and tried his hardest to make a rhyme, but as he had 227] never made a single one when awake he did not succeed any better in his dreams.

Peter tapped his forehead with his fingers. (P. 227.)

He awoke as the first streaks of dawn appeared and sat up, placed his elbows on the table and rested his head upon his hands. As he remembered the whispering in his ears he said to himself: “Rhyme foolish Charcoal Peter, for goodness sake make a rhyme.” He tapped his forehead with his fingers, but no rhyme would come, and as he sat there sad and disturbed in his mind, trying hard to find a rhyme to “grow,” the young fellows passed the cottage and one of them was singing at the top of his voice:

“I stood beside a little hut,

Just where the pine-trees grow,

Peeped in for my beloved,

But her face she would not show.”

The words rushed through Peter’s ears like lightning; but like lightning they were gone again. He jumped 228] up, ran from the cottage, pursued the three men, and seized the singer roughly by the arm. “Stop, friend,” he cried, “what did you rhyme with ‘grow’? Be good enough, please, to tell me what you were singing.”

“What’s that to you, fellow?” replied the Black Forester. “I can sing what I like, I suppose? Let go my arm, or——”

“No, no,” screamed Peter, clinging all the tighter to him, “I will not let you go until you have told me what you were singing.” But the singer’s two companions fell upon Peter and gave him such a drubbing he was forced to let go the singer’s clothing, and fell fainting to his knees.

“Now you have your deserts,” they said, laughing, “and perhaps you will know better another time than to molest honest folk on an open road.”

“I will certainly remember not to do so any more,” replied Charcoal Peter with a sigh, “but now that you have given me a good beating be so good as to tell me slowly and clearly the words of the song.”

They laughed at him and mocked him, but the singer repeated the words to him and then, laughing and singing, the three young men went on their way.

Peter raised himself painfully to his feet. “Ah,” he said, “so ‘show’ rhymes with ‘grow.’ Very well, Master Glass-man, we will have a word to say to each other by-and-by.” He went back to the cottage, took leave of his host, and with his staff in his hand set out once more for the clump of black pine-trees.

He walked slowly, for he had to compose a last line to the verse, and although he now had a word 229] to rhyme he found it a difficult matter to make up the whole line. But by the time he was close to the place and the pines began to grow taller and thicker, he had his line quite complete, and so overjoyed was he that he made a bound forward and nearly bounded up against a huge giant of a man, dressed as a raftsman, and carrying a pole in his hand the size of a ship’s mast, who stepped suddenly from out of the clump of pine-trees.

Peter Munk’s knees shook with fright as he saw the giant taking slow steps alongside of him, in order to accommodate himself to Peter’s pace. “Without doubt it is Dutch Michael,” thought he, but the huge figure paced silently on.

Peter glanced sideways at him from time to time. He was certainly taller than the tallest man he had ever seen, his face was neither young nor old, but was covered with lines and creases innumerable. He wore a linen vest and the enormous boots which were drawn up over his leather breeches Peter recognised at once from the old man’s story.

“Peter Munk, what are you doing in this clump of black pines?” he asked at length in deep threatening tones.

“Good morning, sir,” answered Peter, trying to appear unconcerned, although he was trembling violently. “I am only on my way home.”

“Peter Munk,” replied the Forest King, glaring at the unfortunate young man, “your way does not lie through this clump of trees.”

“Well, not exactly,” said Peter, “but it is so 230] hot to-day that I thought it would be cooler here beneath the pine-trees.”

Peter nearly bounded up against a huge giant. (P. 229.)

“Don’t lie to me, Charcoal Peter,” thundered the giant, “or I will strike you to the earth with my pole. Do you suppose I did not see you begging from the little Glass-man?” Then in milder tones Dutch Michael went on. “It was a foolish thing to do, Peter, and it was lucky for you you could not remember the lines of the verse, for the little fellow is a terrible miser, and only gives grudgingly; moreover, whoever accepts money from him is never happy again his whole life long. You are a simpleton, Peter, and I am sorry for you from the bottom of my heart. To think that a fine handsome fellow like you should be nothing better than a charcoal burner! When other folks jingle fat ducats in their pockets you have only a few copper coins to show. It is a wretched life to lead.”

“You are right there, it is a wretched life,” said Peter.

231] “Well, well,” proceeded Dutch Michael, “I have helped many a poor fellow in distress and you would not be the first. Just say how many hundred florins you would like to have to begin with?”

As he spoke he jingled the money in his enormous pockets and it sounded just as it had done in Peter’s dream.

Peter’s heart beat fast with fear and he was hot and cold by turns, for Dutch Michael had not the appearance of one who gave money out of charity alone. He remembered the mysterious words of the old man regarding the men who had enriched themselves at the Forest King’s expense, and overcome with terror he cried out: “Many thanks, sir, for your kind offer, but I would rather have nothing to do with you,” and with that he took to his heels and ran for his life.

But the terrible Michael was not to be shaken off. By taking huge strides he kept pace with Peter—“You will regret this,” he said, “mark my words you will regret it. Do not run so fast, yonder is the boundary of my domains and I can go no further.”

On hearing these words Peter hastened on more than ever and as he reached the boundary he made a spring for safety. Dutch Michael hurled his huge pole after him. It missed him, but the force with which it had been thrown caused it to break into splinters. One splinter fell at his feet and Peter stopped to pick it up to throw it back at Michael; but before he could do so he felt the wood turn and twist in 232] his hand, and to his horror he saw that it had turned into a huge snake, which was about to spring at him. He tried to shake it off, but it had fastened itself round his arm and darted its horrible head towards his face, when suddenly a woodcock flew down and seized the snake’s head in its beak and flew off with it. Dutch Michael raged and bellowed in vain, and Peter, trembling in every limb, once more set out upon his way. The path grew steeper and steeper until at length he found himself before the big pine-tree in the centre of the clump of black pines. As on the previous day, he bowed to the invisible Glass-man and began reciting the verse:

“Owner of all in the pine-woods green,

Many a hundred years thou hast seen,

Thine all the lands where the pine trees grow—

To the Sunday-born thy face now show!”

“Well, it’s not quite right yet, but as it is you Charcoal Peter, I will let it pass,” said a fine soft voice near him.

Peter turned in surprise and saw, seated beneath a beautiful pine-tree, a little old man. He was wearing a black vest, red stockings, and a large pointed hat. He had a refined, delicate little face and a long white beard as soft as a cobweb; but the most extraordinary thing about him that Peter at first sight noticed was that he was smoking a long pipe of blue glass; but on approaching nearer Peter discovered that everything the little man wore, coat, shoes, stockings, all were made of coloured glass; but it was as flexible as though it were still hot, and went into folds, as cloth 233] would have done, with every movement of the little man’s body.

THE COLD HEART. Charcoal Peter and the Glass-man.

“And so you met that rascal Dutch Michael,” said the little man. “He would have done you an injury had I not taken his magic wand from him. Moreover, he will not easily get it again.”

“Yes, Master Glass-man,” replied Peter, bowing low. “I had a terrible fright. And so you were the woodcock that pecked the snake to death? Very many thanks. But I have come to you for advice. Things are not very flourishing with me. A charcoal-burner does not get on in the world, and, as I am young and strong, I should like to be in a better position, especially when I see others like Fat Ezekiel and the Dance King with as much money as they can spend.”

“Peter,” said the little man sternly, as he blew a cloud of smoke from his pipe, “Peter, don’t let me hear you speak of these men. Just for a few years’ happiness, or perhaps only the appearance of happiness they will pay by an eternity of misery. You should not be-little your trade. Your father and grandfather before you pursued it. I trust it is not the love of idleness that has led you to me.”

Peter was alarmed by the little man’s earnestness and blushed. “No, no,” he faltered, “I know full well that idleness is the root of all trouble; but you cannot wonder that I should wish to better myself. A charcoal-burner is thought so little of, the glass-makers, clock-makers and raftsmen are all of higher standing.”

234] “Pride goes before a fall,” said the little man in more friendly tones. “You men are a strange race! It is seldom that any one of you is content with his position. If you were a glass-worker you would no doubt wish to be a timber merchant, and if you were a timber merchant you would want to be the Keeper of the Forest, or even a magistrate. I am accustomed to grant three wishes to every Sunday-child that knows how to find his way to me. The first two are free to be granted; but I can refuse to grant the third if I think it is a foolish one. So wish something for yourself, Peter, but take care that it is something good and useful.”

“Hurrah! you are without doubt a first-rate little fellow, Master Glass-man. And so as I may wish what I will, I wish that I may dance as well as the Dance King, and when I am with Fat Ezekiel I may always have as much money in my pockets as he has.”

“Fool!” cried the little man angrily, “what an idiotic wish to make, to be able to dance and to have a supply of money with which to gamble. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Peter, to cheat yourself of your good fortune in such a manner. Of what use will it be to your poor mother that you can dance well? And of what use your money if you only spend it in the ale house? When you are with Fat Ezekiel and the Dance King your pockets will be as full as theirs, but you will leave your money behind you, and be as poor and hungry the rest of the week as you were before. I will grant you one other wish, but see that you make better use of it.”

235] Peter scratched his head and spoke after some deliberation. “Very well, I wish for the finest glass factory in the Black Forest and sufficient money to carry on my business.”

“Nothing else?” asked the little man earnestly. “Nothing else, Peter?”

“Well,” said Peter, “whilst I am about it you might as well add a horse and a little carriage.”

“Oh! you stupid, you stupid!” cried the little man, and in his wrath he flung his glass pipe at the nearest pine-tree and smashed it into a hundred pieces. “A horse and carriage indeed! Why couldn’t you wish for knowledge and common sense. But there, there, no need to look so sad, the second wish was not altogether so foolish as the first. A glass factory is not a bad thing to possess and will certainly provide its owner with a living, but had you wished for knowledge and common sense with it, the horse and carriage would have followed as a natural consequence.”

“But, Master Glass-man,” replied Peter, “I have still one wish left and I will wish for knowledge and common sense if you think it so necessary for me to possess it.”

“No, no, mark my words you will find yourself in such a dilemma one of these fine days that you will be thankful to have a remaining wish to help you out, and now go home. Here are two thousand golden crowns, see that you use them to the best advantage, and don’t come here asking for more money or I will hang you from the top of the tallest tree. Three days ago old Winkfritz died. He owned the 236] largest glass factory in the forest. Go first thing to-morrow morning and make a bid for the business. See that you are industrious and behave yourself well, and I will visit you from time to time and give you good advice to make up for your not having wished for common sense, but I must tell you seriously that your first wish was an evil wish. Be careful how you take to frequenting ale-houses, for never yet did they do anyone anything but harm.”

Whilst speaking the little man had taken out another pipe made of the very finest glass, filled it with dried fir cones, and stuck it in his little toothless mouth. He now drew forth an enormous burning glass and, stepping out into the sunlight, lighted his pipe by means of the glass.

When he had succeeded he offered his hand to Peter in friendly fashion, gave him a little more good advice, smoked faster and faster, and at length disappeared in a cloud of smoke, which circled higher and higher until it reached the tree tops, leaving a scent of genuine Dutch tobacco behind it.

When Peter reached home he found his mother in great trouble about him, for the good woman quite supposed he had been made to enlist for a soldier.

He told her he had met a good friend in the Forest who had given him enough money to start a different business. Although his mother had lived for thirty years in the charcoal-burner’s hut and had become as accustomed to the sooty faces of her men-folk as a miller’s wife to her husband’s floury face, she had still sufficient vanity at once to despise 237] their former position as soon as she saw a chance of bettering it.

The little man disappeared in a cloud of smoke. (P. 236.)

“As the mother of a man who owns a glass factory,” said she, “I shall be a degree above my neighbours, and in future I shall take a foremost seat in church amongst the well-to-do people.”

Peter soon made a bargain with Winkfritz’s heirs for possession of the glass factory. He retained all the workmen employed there and worked hard, making 238] glass night and day. At first he liked his new trade. He walked about the factory with his hands stuck in his pockets, looking at this and that and making his workmen laugh at his queer questions. His greatest pleasure was to watch the glass-blowing; he liked to take the soft material and fashion it into all sorts of queer figures. But he soon tired of the work and by degrees he came less often to the factory; first it fell to passing only an hour a day there, then he would come in every other day, finally only once a week, and all this came of frequenting the ale-house. The Sunday after he had met the little Glass-man, he went to the inn and there he found the Dance King, already dancing, and Fat Ezekiel, with a can of beer beside him, playing pitch and toss for crown pieces. He put his hand in his pocket to be sure the little Glass-man kept good faith, and found his pockets bulging with gold and silver. In his limbs he felt a strange and unaccustomed twitching, as though he wanted to dance, and as soon as the first dance was over he took his partner out and placed himself close to the Dance King. For every skip the Dance King made Peter made two. If the Dance King bounded a foot into the air Peter bounded twice as high, and no matter what complicated steps the Dance King made, Peter’s dancing was twice as complicated. He bounded, he pranced, he twisted until all who beheld him were in a whirl of wonder.

As soon as it became known that Peter had purchased a glass factory, and when folks saw the careless way in which he flung a handful of coppers at a time 239] to the musicians, their astonishment knew no bounds. Some said he must have found buried treasure in the forest, others said he had inherited a big sum of money, and everyone paid him great respect and attention because it was apparent he was a monied man. The same evening he lost twenty crowns, but in spite of that his money still chinked in his pockets as though he had plenty left.

When Peter saw how much he was looked up to he scarcely knew how to contain himself for pride and joy. He threw his money about with a free hand and gave a goodly portion to the poor, remembering the times when he had suffered for want of money.

The Dance King’s art having been quite supplanted by that of Peter, the latter was nicknamed “Dance Emperor,” but this nickname soon gave place to another and a worse one. On Sundays in the inn there was no worse gambler than he, for no one could afford to lose as much as he could, but as he always played with Fat Ezekiel, who won his money easily, he had still, just as the little Glass-man had promised, as much money in his pockets as his opponent.

If he lost twenty or thirty crowns one minute, no sooner had Fat Ezekiel slipped them into his pocket than the same sum appeared in Peter’s. He took to gambling every day in the week, and what with drinking and playing he soon became one of the worst characters in the Black Forest, and so he came to be called “Gambling Peter” instead of “Dance Emperor.”

240] It was on account of this that his glass factory soon began to show signs of decay. He ordered glass to be made as before; but as he had no business capacity he did not know how to dispose of it to the best advantage, and soon had such an accumulation of glass goods that he was obliged to sell to pedlars or anyone who would buy it at half price, so that he might have the money to pay his workmen.

One evening as he was going home from the inn he could not help thinking of the terrible muddle he had made of his affairs and worrying himself over the loss of his fortune, when suddenly he became aware that someone was walking beside him, and behold it was the little Glass-man.

Peter flew into a terrible rage and accused the little man of being the cause of all his misfortunes. “Of what use to me is a horse and a carriage?” he cried. “Of what use my factory and all my glass? I was happier as a poverty-stricken charcoal-burner than I am now, for I never know when the bailiffs may come and seize my goods to pay my debts.”

“Oh!” replied the little Glass-man, “so it is my fault, is it, that you are unhappy? Is this the thanks you offer me for my generosity? Why did you wish so foolishly? You wished to be a glass manufacturer and yet knew nothing about the business. Did I not warn you to be careful what you wished for? It was knowledge and common sense you wanted.”

Peter grabbed the Glass-man by the collar. (P. 241.)

“Knowledge and common sense,” screamed Peter. “I will show you that I have as much common sense as you have,” and with these words he grabbed the 241] Glass-man by the collar and cried—“Now I have you, Master Glass-man, and I will not let you go until you have granted me a third wish. Give me now at this very moment, on this very spot, two 242] hundred thousand crown pieces, a house and—oh! oh!!” he shrieked aloud, for the Glass-man had turned into a mass of hot molten glass and burnt his hand. Of the little man himself there was nothing to be seen.

For several days he was reminded of his ingratitude and foolishness by his burnt and swollen hand, but he managed to stifle his conscience and said to himself—“Well, well, even if my factory and everything in it is sold, I have still got Fat Ezekiel to provide me with as much money as I shall require. As long as his pockets are full on a Sunday, I cannot have mine empty.”

Just so, Peter, but how if a time should come when they are empty? This was exactly what happened. One Sunday he came driving up to the inn in his carriage and the people looking out of the window remarked: “Here comes Gambling Peter,” or “Here comes the Dance Emperor,” or “Here comes the rich glass manufacturer.”

“I’m not so sure about his riches,” said another, “there are grave reports about him in the town and it is said that the bailiffs are to seize his goods for debt.”

Peter nodded to the men at the window and called pompously—“Master Innkeeper, is Fat Ezekiel here yet?” “Yes, yes, here I am,” said Fat Ezekiel, “we have kept your place, Peter, and we are at the cards already.”

So Peter Munk went in and slipped his hand into his pocket and found that Fat Ezekiel must have plenty of money, for his own pockets were quite full.

He sat down to the table and began to play, 243] losing and winning much as the others did. But as the night began to fall most of the players rose and went home, but not so Peter Munk. He challenged Fat Ezekiel to remain and play on.

At first he was not willing, but presently he consented. “Very well,” he said at length, “I will just count my money and then we will throw the dice for five crowns a point, for less than that it is mere child’s play.” Ezekiel drew out his purse and counted five hundred crowns, so Peter knew exactly how much he had.

But though Ezekiel had won before, he now began to lose his money and his temper too. So sure as he threw double fives Peter threw double sixes; whatever Ezekiel threw, Peter threw higher, until at length he had won all Ezekiel’s money with the exception of five crown pieces.

“If I lose this,” cried Ezekiel, “I will still go on playing, and try to retrieve my luck; you shall lend me some of your winnings, Peter, for one good comrade always helps another.”

“As much as you please,” replied Peter, “a hundred crowns if possible,” for he was merry over his winnings and in a very good temper.

But again Ezekiel lost and Peter started as he heard a harsh voice behind him say—“Oh! ho! there goes the last coin!”

Peter looked round and saw Dutch Michael standing behind him. In his terror he let fall his money, but Fat Ezekiel saw nothing, but only asked Peter to lend him some money that they might go 244] on playing. Half in a dream Peter thrust his hand into his pocket. It was empty, he tried the other—empty too. He turned them inside out, but not the smallest copper coin was to be seen, and now he remembered for the first time what his wish had been—that he might always have as much money as Fat Ezekiel—well, Ezekiel had none and so Peter’s had all disappeared like smoke.

At first the innkeeper and Fat Ezekiel would not believe that he had no money, but when they saw that his pockets really were empty they were very angry, for they declared he must be a sorcerer and that he had wished his money and his winnings away at home so that he might not have to lend any.

Peter attempted to defend himself, but appearances were against him. Ezekiel declared that the following day he would publish the news all over the Black Forest, and the innkeeper said he should go and denounce Peter as a sorcerer to the magistrate and that he would most assuredly be burnt. Then they flew at him, beat him soundly, tore his jacket off his back, and threw him out of the door of the inn.

No star shone in the sky as Peter crept miserably home, but in spite of that he recognised a dark figure that walked beside him and kept pace with him. At length the figure spoke—“Well, Peter Munk, there is an end to you and your splendour. I could have told you exactly what would happen when you would not listen to me but hurried off to that stupid Glass Dwarf. Now see what you have come to through despising my advice. But try me once, for I am really sorry for your pitiful fate. No one has ever 245] repented of coming to me for assistance, and if you are not afraid come to me to-morrow to the clump of pine-trees; I will be there if you call me.”

But Peter shuddered and ran home as fast as his legs could carry him.

PART II.

When Peter entered his glass factory on the Monday morning he found the bailiffs already in possession. He was asked if he had any money with which he could settle his debts, and on his replying that he had not, his factory, house, stables, horse, carriage and the stock in hand were all seized.

“Well,” said he, “since the little man has done nothing for me I will see what the big one will do.” And he set off running as fast as though the police were at his heels.

He reached the clump of black pines, and as he passed the spot where he had seen the little Glass-man it seemed as though an invisible hand caught him and held him back. But he tore himself loose and dashed across the boundary line into Dutch Michael’s domain. Breathlessly he called: “Dutch Michael, Dutch Michael,” and immediately the gigantic figure of the raftsman stood before him.

“So you have come,” he said, laughing. “And did they wish to sell up you and your possessions? Well, well, it was the fault of the little man, miser that he is. If one makes a present it may as well be one worth having. But follow me to my house and I will see if we cannot drive a bargain.”

246] “Make a bargain?” thought Peter, “what have I to exchange with him? Have I got to serve him, I wonder?”

Dutch Michael led him up a steep woodland pathway until at length they came to a steep ravine, with rugged rocky sides. Michael sprang down the rugged rocks as though they had been a polished marble staircase, but Peter almost fainted when he saw that the giant grew taller and taller until he was the height of a church tower. He stretched up an arm as long as a weaver’s beam, with a hand the size of a parlour table, and bade Peter seat himself upon it and hold tight.

Peter trembled with fright but obeyed, took his seat upon the giant’s hand, and held tight to his thumb.

They went down and down, ever deeper, but to Peter’s surprise it was not at all dark, indeed it was quite the contrary, for the sun shone so brightly in his eyes that it dazzled him. The further Peter went down, the smaller Michael became, until when they reached the bottom of the ravine he was the same size as he had been when Peter first saw him.

They were standing outside a house, such as a well-to-do peasant might have inhabited, and the room Peter was shown into was much the same as any other room except that it seemed very dreary. A tall clock in a wooden case stood by the wall, an enormous china stove and the usual furniture were all there. Michael invited him to take a seat at the table and, going out, returned speedily with glasses and a flask of wine. He poured it out and they began to talk, 247] Dutch Michael telling Peter of all the joys there were to be met with in foreign lands. He described the beautiful towns and rivers until Peter conceived a great longing to go and see them.

Michael stretched up an arm, with a hand the size of a parlour table. (P. 246.)

“Ah!” said Michael craftily, “even if your whole body and mind wanted to undertake some great piece of business your poor silly heart would quake with fear. I can’t think what a fine fellow like you wants with a heart. When you were called a cheat and a rogue where did you feel it most? Not in your head, I’ll be bound! When the officers of the law came and took possession of all your belongings did you have a stomach-ache? Tell me, where did it hurt you most?”

248] “My heart,” replied Peter, placing his hand upon his heaving breast.

“Now forgive me,” said Michael, “if I remind you that you have given away many hundred crown pieces to beggars and other rabble. What good has it done you? They blessed you and wished you good health. Did that do you any good? What was it prompted you to put your hand in your pocket every time a beggar held out his ragged hat to you? Your heart, I tell you. Neither your eyes, nor your tongue, nor your arm, nor your leg, but your heart. You took things to heart as the saying is.”

“But how can I help it? I try my best to suppress it; but my heart beats until it hurts me.”

“You poor fellow,” laughed Michael, “give me that little palpitating thing and see how much better you will feel without it!”

“Give you my heart!” screamed Peter in horror, “why, I should die on the spot. No, that I will not!”

“Of course, you would die if an ordinary physician were to cut out your heart. But with me it is quite a different matter. Come with me, and I will convince you.”

He rose and beckoned to Peter to follow him into another room. Peter’s heart contracted painfully as he crossed the threshold of this room; but he paid no heed to it, such astonishing sights claimed his attention. There were rows of shelves, and upon these stood glass bottles filled with transparent fluid, and in each of these bottles there was a heart. Every 249] bottle was labelled and Peter read the names with the greatest curiosity. There was the name of the Chief Magistrate, Fat Ezekiel’s, the Dance King, in fact all the principal people in the neighbourhood.

“Observe,” said Michael, “all these people have rid themselves of fear and sorrow for life. Not one of these hearts beats with fear or sorrow any more, and their former possessors are very well off without such unquiet guests to disturb them.”

“But what do they carry in their breasts in place of them?” enquired Peter, who felt faint and giddy.

“This,” replied Michael, and he showed him a heart of stone he had taken from a drawer.

“Oh!” said Peter with a shudder, “a heart of stone? But that must be very cold in one’s breast.”

“Yes, yes,” replied Michael, “quite pleasantly cool. What do you want with a warm heart? Even in winter a glass of good cherry brandy will warm your body better than your heart could, and in summer when it is hot and sultry it is nice and cooling. Then, as I have said, neither grief, nor foolish pity, nor sorrow of any sort can affect such a heart.”

“And is that all you have to offer me?” asked Peter ungraciously, “I had hoped for money and you offer me a stone.”

“Come, I think a hundred thousand crown pieces would be sufficient for you at first. If you deal advantageously with it you will soon be a millionaire.”

250] “A hundred thousand!” exclaimed the poor charcoal-burner, joyfully. “Come, come, my heart, don’t beat so wildly, for we are about to part company. Here, Michael, give me the money and the stone and you may have this disturber of my peace.”

“I thought you would prove a sensible fellow,” said Michael, “come, we will have another glass of wine and then I will count out the money.”

They seated themselves in the next room and drank so much wine that Peter fell asleep.

When he awoke it was to the friendly sound of a post horn, and see, there he was, seated in a beautiful carriage. He put his head out of the window and saw the Black Forest in the distance behind him. At first he could not believe it was himself that sat in the carriage, for his clothes were not the same as those he had worn the day before; but he remembered everything so clearly that he could no longer doubt. “Charcoal Peter am I, and no mistake,” he said.

He was surprised he felt no sadness at leaving his home and the Forest where he had lived for so long. Even the thought of his mother whom he was leaving alone, helpless and in dire poverty, provoked no feeling of remorse in him, and he could not call up a tear nor even a sigh. He felt perfectly indifferent.

“Of course,” said he, “tears and sighs, home-sickness, and grief, come from the heart and, thanks to Dutch Michael, mine is now of stone.”

251] He put his hand to his breast, but nothing moved there. “If he has kept his word as well regarding the hundred thousand dollars as he has kept it respecting my heart, I shall have nothing to complain of;” with that he began to search the carriage. He found everything he could possibly require in the shape of clothing, but no money. But at length he came across a pocket in the lining of the carriage which was stuffed with gold and notes, and letters of credit to all the principal cities.

“Now I have everything I can possibly want,” he said, and settling himself comfortably in the corner of his carriage drove away out into the world.

For two years he drove about the country, peering right and left from the windows of his carriage at the houses and villages he passed. When he came into a town he put up at an inn, then went round with a courier, who showed him all the beautiful and interesting sights, not one of which afforded him the least delight, for his heart of stone prevented him taking pleasure in anything. Nothing, however beautiful, appealed to his senses any longer. Nothing was left to him but to eat and drink and sleep—and so he lived without interest or aim in life; to amuse himself he ate and drank, and to prevent his being bored he slept.

Now and again he thought of the days when he had been happy and gay, although he had been obliged to work hard for a livelihood. In those days every beautiful view had delighted him, music and singing had enchanted him, and the simple food his mother cooked for him and brought to him as 252] he sat beside his kiln had been more appetising than all the dainty dishes he partook of now. As he thought of the past it struck him as very singular that he no longer desired to smile even, whereas formerly the smallest joke had served as an excuse for laughter. When other folks laughed he drew his lips into the form of a grin out of politeness; but his heart no longer laughed. It is true he was never upset over anything, but then he was not really satisfied.

It was not home-sickness or grief; but a sense of blankness, weariness and friendlessness that at length drove him back home.

As he drove out of Strassburg and saw again the beautiful dark pine-trees of his native forest, and looked upon the honest faces of his countrymen, and heard the homely, well-remembered tones of their speech, he placed his hand quickly to his heart, for his blood was coursing wildly through his veins and he felt as though he must both weep and laugh together. But—how foolish! His heart was of stone, and stones are dead and can neither laugh nor weep.

His first visit was to Dutch Michael, who received him with friendliness as he had formerly done. “Michael,” said Peter, “I have travelled all over the world and taken pleasure in nothing; I was only bored. It is true that the stone thing I carry in my breast shielded me from a great deal of unpleasantness, I am never angry or sad, but then I am never glad either and I feel only 253] half alive. Could you not put a little life into the stone heart, or even give me back my old heart? I had it for five-and-twenty years and had become accustomed to it, and even if it makes me commit some foolishness occasionally, still it was a merry, happy heart.”

For two years Peter drove about the country. (P. 251.)

The giant laughed a grim and bitter laugh. “When you are dead, Peter Munk,” he replied, “you shall have your soft, feeling heart back again, and experience all the sensations you knew before. 254] But as long as you are alive you cannot have it. It would have been of little service to you either, in the life of idleness you have been living lately. Why don’t you settle down now, marry, build a house, make money? All you require is work; because you were idle you were bored and then you blame your innocent stone heart.”

Peter saw that there was sense in what Michael said and made up his mind to devote his time to money-making. Michael gave him another hundred thousand dollars and they parted good friends.

Very soon the news was spread abroad in the Black Forest that Charcoal Peter, or Gambling Peter, had returned, and that he was richer than formerly. As usual, now that he had returned a rich man he was received with open arms by those who had turned their backs on him in his misfortunes. He now pretended that he was a timber merchant, but this was only a blind, his real business was that of a money-lender and corn-dealer.

Very soon half the folks in the Black Forest owed him money, and he charged ten per cent for all he lent. Or again he sold corn to the poor, who had not the money to pay immediately, for three times its worth.

He was first-rate friends with the magistrate now, and when it happened that Peter’s debtors did not pay up to the very day the magistrate would come with his officers and sell up their homes and drive father, mother and children out into the forest. At first it caused rich Peter some 255] inconvenience, for the poor creatures besieged his house, the men begged for some consideration, the women tried to soften his heart of stone, and the children cried for bread. But he bought a pair of fierce dogs to stop the “caterwauling,” as he called it, and so soon as a beggar appeared he set his dogs on to him.

But what caused him the most trouble was his poor old mother. She had fallen into extreme poverty, and though her son had returned a rich man he did not attempt to provide for her. She came sometimes to his door, weak and ill, her tottering steps supported by a stick, but she did not venture into the house, for once she had been driven out of it. It was a sore grief to her that she should be dependent on the charity of others when her own son could so well have afforded to care for her in her old age. But his heart of stone was never moved by the sight of the pale worn face and the withered outstretched hand.

When she knocked at his door he drew some coppers from his pocket and gave them to a servant to hand to her. He could hear her trembling voice as she thanked him and wished him well, he heard her coughing pitifully as she crept away, and then he thought no more about the matter, except that he had spent some money with no hope of its being returned.

At last Peter made up his mind to get married. He knew quite well that every father in the Black Forest would be only too glad to let him marry 256] his daughter, but he was very difficult to please, for he wanted everyone to praise the good sense he had shown in making his choice and to be envious of his good fortune.

So he went to every dance-room in the countryside, but not one of the beautiful maidens he met there did he think sufficiently beautiful. At length he heard that a poor wood-cutter’s daughter was the most beautiful and most virtuous maiden in the whole of the Black Forest. She lived quietly, keeping her father’s house in beautiful order, and never so much as showed herself at the dance-rooms, not even at holiday times. No sooner did Peter hear of this marvel than he made up his mind to wed her, and rode out to the cottage where she dwelt. The beautiful Lisbeth’s father received this fine-looking gentleman with surprise, and was still more astonished when he heard that Peter wished to be his son-in-law. He did not take long to make up his mind, for he supposed that all his poverty and anxious striving would now be at an end, and so he agreed to his request without so much as asking Lisbeth’s consent, but she was such an obedient child that she did not venture to object, and so became Mrs. Peter Munk.

But the poor girl was not as happy as she expected to be. She had thought herself an accomplished housekeeper, but she could do nothing to please Master Peter. She was pitiful towards the poor, and, knowing her husband to be a man of means, she thought it no wrong to give them a little money or food. But when Peter happened to see her one 257] day he told her with an angry glance and in harsh tones that she was wasting his goods. “What did you bring with you,” he cried, “that you think you can spend so lavishly? Why, your beggar father’s staff would scarcely serve to heat the soup, and yet you throw money about as though you were a princess. If I catch you doing it again you shall feel the weight of my hand.”

The beautiful Lisbeth wept bitterly when she was alone, and wished herself back again in her father’s poor little cottage instead of living in the grand house of the rich but miserly and hard-hearted Peter Munk. Had she known that he had a heart of stone in his breast and could love neither her nor anyone else she would not have been so surprised.

Sometimes, as she sat in her doorway, a beggar would pass by and hold out his hand in entreaty. Then Lisbeth closed her eyes tightly that she might not see his misery, and clenched her hands so that they should not involuntarily stray to her pocket for a coin. And so it happened that Lisbeth came to be ill-thought of throughout the whole of the Black Forest, and it was said that she was even more miserly than Peter himself.

But one day Lisbeth sat by the door of her house and sang a little song as she twirled her distaff, for she was merry because the weather was fine and Peter had ridden out into the country. She saw a little old man coming along, bent beneath the weight of an enormous sack and panting 258] painfully. She looked at him pityingly, thinking to herself that it was not right that such an old man should be so heavily laden.

Just as the old man reached Lisbeth he stumbled and almost fell beneath the weight of his sack. “Have pity, dear lady, and give me a drink of water,” he gasped, “I can go no further, I am completely exhausted.”

“You are too old to carry such a heavy weight,” said Lisbeth.

“True,” replied the old man, “but it is on account of my poverty that I am forced to go round as a carrier, otherwise I should not be able to earn a livelihood. But a rich lady like yourself knows nothing of the pinch of poverty or how good a cool draught of fresh water seems on such a hot day.”

On hearing this Lisbeth hurried into the house, took a pitcher from the shelf and filled it with water, and when she turned to hand it to the old man and saw how wretched and tired out he looked as he sat upon his sack, she felt so much pity for him, that she could not resist giving him more substantial help. So she set the water aside and filled a cup with red wine and gave it to him with a large slice of rye bread.

“This will do you more good than water, seeing that you are so old,” she said, “but be careful, do not drink so hastily, take a morsel of bread with the wine.”

THE COLD HEART “She saw a little old man coming along.” (p. 258)

The old man looked at her with tears in his 261] eyes—“I am very old,” he said, “but in all my life I have seen few so pitiful as you or whose gifts were given with such gracious kindness. But such a kind heart will not go unrewarded.”

“No, indeed, and the reward she shall have at once,” cried a terrible voice, and when they turned, there stood Peter with a face purple with rage.

“And so you give my best wine to beggars, and serve it in my own cup, too. Now you shall have your reward.”

Lisbeth threw herself at his feet and begged for forgiveness, but his heart of stone knew no pity; he turned the whip he was carrying round and struck her forehead with the ebony handle with so much force that she sank back lifeless into the arms of the old man. Immediately he began to regret what he had done and stooped to see if she were yet alive. But the little old man spoke in well-known tones: “Do not trouble, Charcoal Peter, she was the sweetest and loveliest flower in the whole of the Black Forest; now that you have trodden it under foot it will never bloom again.”

Every drop of blood forsook Peter’s cheeks—“So it is you,” he said. “Well, what is done, is done. I trust you will not give me up to the hand of the law for this murder.”

“Miserable wretch!” replied the little Glass-man. “What satisfaction should I have in giving your mortal body to the hangman? It is no earthly 262] court of justice you have to fear, but another and a more awful one, for you have sold your soul to the evil one.”

“And if I have sold my heart,” screamed Peter, “who, but you, is to blame for it, you and the deceitful tricks you played on me with the treasures I was to gain through you? You drove me to seek other help, that has been my undoing, and so the responsibility lies with you.”

But scarcely had he spoken before the little Glass-man began to grow bigger. He grew and he swelled until he became a huge giant, his eyes were as big as saucers and his mouth was the size of a baker’s oven out of which flames began to dart. Peter threw himself on his knees, for his stone heart did not prevent his limbs from shaking like an aspen tree.

With hands like vulture’s claws the wood spirit seized him by his neck, twisted him about as the whirlwind does the dry leaves, and then dashed him to the ground so that his ribs cracked.

“Earth-worm!” he cried, in a voice that rolled like thunder, “I could shatter you to pieces if I would, for you have offended the Lord of the Forest. But for the sake of this dead woman, who fed me and gave me drink, I will give you eight days’ grace. If during that time you do not repent, I will come and grind your bones to powder and you will depart in the midst of your sins.”

It was evening when some passing men found 263] Peter Munk lying unconscious on the ground; they turned him over and sought for some sign of life, but for some time in vain. At length one of them went into the house and fetched some water and sprinkled it on his face. Then he drew a deep breath, groaned and opened his eyes, looked around him anxiously, and asked for his wife, but no one had seen her.

Some passing men found Peter Munk lying unconscious on the ground. (P. 263.)

He thanked the men for their assistance, crept into his house and searched from cellar to attic, but in vain; what he had hoped might prove a bad dream was bitter reality.

Now that he was left quite alone, strange 264] thoughts came to him; he had no fear, for was not his heart cold? But when he thought of the death of his wife, it reminded him that his own death would come one day. And how heavily laden with sin he would be! His soul would be weighed down by the tears of the needy, the curses of those he had ruined, the groans of the wretched ones that had been dragged down by his dogs, the quiet despair of his own mother, and the innocent blood of Lisbeth. How would he be able to answer her old father when he came and demanded: “Where is my daughter, your wife?”

He was tormented in his dreams, and repeatedly awoke, hearing a sweet voice calling to him: “Peter, Peter, see that you get a warmer heart.” Even when he was awake it was the same, and he knew the voice to be Lisbeth’s. He went down to the inn to divert his thoughts, and there he met Fat Ezekiel. He sat down opposite to him and they began to talk of all sorts of things, the weather, the war, the stars, and at last of death and how quickly some had died off.

Then Peter asked the fat one what he thought of death and the hereafter.

Ezekiel answered that the body died and was buried, but the soul soared up to heaven or down to the evil one.

“Is the heart buried with the body?” asked Peter.

“Certainly that is buried too!”

“But if one had no heart?” queried Peter.

265] Ezekiel looked at him in horror. “What do you say? Are you trying to make game of me? Do you mean to say that I have no heart?”

“Oh! yes, you have a heart right enough,” said Peter, “but it is made of stone.”

Ezekiel stared at him in astonishment, looked round to see that no one was listening, and then said: “How do you know that? Has your own ceased to beat also?”

“It beats no longer, at least not in my breast,” answered Peter Munk. “But tell me, now you understand how it is with me, what will happen to our hearts?”

“Why worry about that, my friend,” laughed Ezekiel. “You are alive at present and that is the best of having a heart of stone, one is never afraid of such thoughts.”

“Quite true, but one thinks about them all the same,” said Peter, “and I can remember still how they would have frightened me once upon a time.”

“Of course, we can’t expect things to go very well with us,” said Ezekiel. “Once upon a time I asked a schoolmaster about it and he told me that our hearts would be weighed; the light ones went up on the scale and those heavy with sin went down, so I expect our stone hearts will be pretty heavy.”

“Sometimes I am a little uncomfortable to think that my heart should be so indifferent to such things,” said Peter.

266] So they talked together. That night Peter heard the voice whispering five or six times in his ear: “Peter, Peter, see that you get a warmer heart!” He felt no remorse for what he had done, but when he told his servants that his wife had gone on a journey he wondered to himself whither she had journeyed.

Six whole days and nights passed and ever it seemed to him there was a voice whispering in his ear, and he could think of nothing but the little Glass-man and his warning. And so, on the seventh day, he sprang out of bed and said: “Well, I will see if I cannot get a warm heart again, instead of this unfeeling stone in my bosom, for it makes my life both tedious and lonely.” So he dressed himself in his best and rode off to the clump of black pines. When he reached the outskirts he dismounted, tied up his horse, and hurried to the summit of the hill, and as he came to the big pine-tree he repeated his verse:

“Owner of all in the pine-woods green,

Many a hundred years thou hast seen,

Thine all the lands where the pine-trees grow—

To the Sunday-born thy face now show!”

At once the little Glass-man appeared, but he did not seem at all friendly; but looked gloomy and sad. He wore a coat of black glass, and a long crape veil floated from his hat, and Peter knew very well for whom he wore mourning.

“What do you want with me, Peter Munk?” he asked in deep tones.

267] “There is still a wish due to me, Mr. Glass-man,” answered Peter with downcast eyes.

“Is it possible for a heart of stone to wish for anything?” said the little man. “You have everything a man of your bad disposition requires, and I shall not readily grant your request.”

That night Peter heard the voice whispering in his ear. (P. 266.)

“But you promised me three wishes,” said Peter “and one I have not yet made use of.”

“I have the right to withhold it if it is a foolish wish,” said the little man, “but say on, what do you want?”

“Take this cold stone out of my breast and 268] give me back my warm living heart in place of it,” Peter asked.

“Had I aught to do with the exchange?” demanded the little man. “Am I Dutch Michael, who gives fortunes and stone hearts away? You must recover your heart from him.”

“But he will never give it back to me,” answered Peter.

“Bad as you are, I am sorry for you,” said the little man after a few moments’ consideration, “and as your wish is not a foolish one I will promise to assist you. Listen, you will never obtain your heart by force and so you must employ cunning, and it may not be a difficult task, for stupid Michael always was and stupid he will remain, although he prides himself upon being extremely clever. So go straight to him and do exactly as I tell you.” The Glass-man then gave Peter a little cross of pure transparent glass, and proceeded to give him minute instructions as to how he should act. “He cannot take your life,” said the little man, “and he will let you go free if you hold this out to him and whisper a prayer. As soon as you have obtained what you want come back here to me.”

Peter Munk took the little cross, made sure he remembered every word the little man had told him, and went straight off to the spot where Michael was wont to be found. He called him three times by name and at once the giant appeared. “And so you have killed your wife,” he said 269] with a horrible laugh. “Well, I should have done the same. Did she not waste your fortune on beggars? But it would be best for you to leave the country for a time, for there will be a fine fuss when it is found out; and so I suppose you want money and have come to fetch it from me?”

“You have guessed it exactly,” replied Peter, “but I shall require a good big sum this time. It is a long way to America.”

Michael went in advance and led the way to his home. As soon as he reached it he went to a chest and took out several packets of gold. Whilst he was counting it Peter said: “You are a rascal, Michael, for you deceived me, telling me that I had a stone in my breast, and that you had my heart.”

“And is it not so?” asked the astonished Michael, “can you feel your heart beat? Do you know what fear or remorse is?”

“Ah! you have just made my heart stand still, but I have it still in my breast and so has Ezekiel. It was he who told me you had lied to us; you are not the one to take one’s heart out without his feeling it, that would be magic.”

“But I assure you I did,” said Michael angrily. “You, and Ezekiel, and all the other rich people who have had dealings with me have hearts of stone, and your own original hearts I have here, shut up in a room.”

“Now how easily the lies trip from your tongue!” laughed Peter. “You must make some one else believe that. I have seen dozens of similar 270] tricks on my travels. The hearts you have in your room there are merely waxen ones. You are a rich fellow, I allow, but you do not understand magic.”

The giant became furious and tore open the door of the room. “Come in and read all these labels; look at this, look at that, do you see it is labelled ‘Peter Munk’s Heart!’ do you see how it throbs? Could you make a waxen one do that?”

“All the same, it is wax,” said Peter. “A real heart does not beat like that, I have mine still in my breast. No, it is evident you do not understand magic.”

“But I will prove it to you!” cried the angry Michael; “you shall feel for yourself that it is your own heart.”

He tore Peter’s vest open, took a stone from his breast and showed it to him. Then he took the real heart, breathed on it, and put it carefully in its place, and immediately to his delight Peter felt it begin to beat.

“Now what have you to say?” laughed Michael.

“Truly you were in the right,” answered Peter, carefully drawing the little cross from his pocket. “I would not have believed it possible for a man to do such a thing.”

“Well, it was as I said,” answered Michael; “you see I do understand magic, but come, now, I must put the stone back in your breast.”

“Softly, softly, Michael!” cried Peter, and he took a step backwards and held out the cross towards him. “With a morsel of cheese the mouse 271] is caught, and this time it is you who have been caught.” And he at once began to murmur the first prayer that came to his lips.

At once Michael began to dwindle away, fell down on the ground and writhed like a worm, and groaned and sighed, and all the hearts in the glass bottles began to throb and beat until it sounded like the clock-maker’s workshop. But Peter was afraid, and his courage began to fail him, and he turned and ran out of the house and, driven by fear, he climbed the steep face of the rocky ravine, for he could hear Michael raging and stamping and uttering fearful oaths.

“Come in and read all these labels,” said the giant. (P. 270.)

As soon as he reached the top he ran quickly to the clump of black pines. A fearful thunderstorm broke out suddenly, lightning flashed from left to right of him, striking the trees about him, 272] but he reached the domain of the little Glass-man in safety.

His heart was beating with joy, simply because it did beat. But suddenly he saw with horror that his past life had been even as the terrible thunderstorm that had dealt destruction right and left in the beautiful forest. He thought of Lisbeth, his good and beautiful wife, whom he had murdered on account of his avarice, and he saw himself as an outcast of humanity. When he reached the little hill where the Glass-man dwelt he was weeping bitterly.

The Glass man sat beneath the pine-tree and smoked a pipe, and he looked more cheerful than previously. “Why do you weep, Charcoal Peter?” he asked. “Did you not get your heart? Have you still a stone in your breast?”

“Ah! sir!” sighed Peter, “when I had a heart of stone I never wept, my eyes were as dry as the land in July; but now my heart is breaking as I think of all I have done. My debtors I drove out to misery and want, and set my dogs upon the poor and sick, and you know alas! how my whip fell upon that snow-white brow!”

“Peter, you have been a great sinner!” said the little man. “Money and idleness spoilt you; when your heart became as a stone you could feel neither joy, nor sorrow, neither remorse nor pity. But repentance can make amends and if I knew for certain that you were sorry for your past life I would still do something for you.”

“I ask for nothing more,” answered Peter, and 273] let his head sink mournfully upon his breast. “All is over for me, never again can I rejoice, and what can I do alone in the world? My mother will never forgive me for what I have done; even now, maybe, I have brought her to her grave, monster that I am. And Lisbeth, my wife! It were a kindness to strike me dead, Master Glass-man, so that my miserable life were at an end.”

“Good,” replied the little man, “if you insist, well, I have my axe near at hand.”

He took his pipe quietly from his mouth, tapped it and put it back again. Then he rose slowly and stepped behind the pine-tree. But Peter sat down upon the grass weeping, his life had become worthless to him, and patiently he awaited the stroke of death. Shortly afterwards he heard light footsteps behind him and thought, “He is coming now!”

“Look round, Peter Munk!” cried the little man. Peter wiped the tears from his eyes and, looking round, saw—his mother, and Lisbeth, his wife, smiling at him. He sprang up joyfully, “Then you are not dead, Lisbeth? And you are here also, Mother, and have forgiven me?”

“They pardon you,” said the little Glass-man, “because you are truly penitent, and everything shall be forgotten. Go home now to your father’s cottage and be a charcoal-burner as before; if you are honest and industrious you will learn to respect your work, and your neighbours will love and esteem you more than if you had ten tons of gold.”

274] Thus spoke the little Glass-man, and then bade him farewell.

The three happy people praised and blessed him and turned towards home.

Peter’s splendid house was no longer standing. It had been struck by lightning and burnt to the ground, together with all his money and treasures, but it was no great distance to the old hut, and so they turned their steps towards it and were not in the least troubled about the great loss.

But what was their surprise on reaching the little hut to find it had become a fine farm-house, furnished throughout with simplicity, but with everything that was necessary and good.

“That is the work of the little Glass-man,” cried Peter.

“How beautiful everything is,” said Lisbeth; “I shall be far happier and more at home here than in the great big house with its many servants.”

From that time Peter became an industrious and honest fellow. He was contented with what he had and plied his trade without grumbling; and so it came to pass that through his own exertions he became well off and respected and loved by everyone in the Forest.

He never quarrelled with his wife, honoured his mother, and gave to the poor who came knocking at his door.

After a time a beautiful boy came to them, to add to their happiness, and then Peter went to the clump of pine-trees and again recited his 275] little rhyme, but the Glass-man did not show himself.

“Master Glass-man,” cried Peter loudly, “do listen to me, for I only meant to ask you to be godfather to my little son!”

But there was no reply, only a little breath of wind sighed through the pine-trees and blew a few cones to the ground.

“Well, I will take these as a remembrance, as you will not show yourself to me,” said Peter, and popped the cones into his pocket, and went home. But when he took off his best coat and his mother shook out the pockets before laying it away in the chest, out tumbled four fine big rolls of gold pieces. That was the good Glass-man’s christening present to little Peter.

And so they lived happily ever after, and when Peter Munk was an old man with grey hair he was wont to say: “It is better to be content with little, than to have money and possessions and a cold heart.”

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