Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive

Transcriber's Note:
Source: http://www.archive.org/details/marvelloushistor00chamrich

                                 _THE_
                           MARVELLOUS HISTORY
                                  _OF_
                             THE SHADOWLESS
                                  MAN.

                         _by_ A. von CHAMISSO

                                 _and_

                             THE COLD HEART

                          _by_ WILHELM HAUFF

                       _With an Introduction by_
                          DR. A. S. RAPPOPORT

                            _Illustrated by_
                             FORSTER ROBSON

                                 LONDON
                          HOLDEN & HARDINGHAM

                                CONTENTS

                           THE SHADOWLESS MAN

                                                        PAGE
INTRODUCTION
AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1
   "    2
   "    3
   "    4
   "    5

                             THE COLD HEART

INTRODUCTION
PART 1
  "  2

                         LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

                           THE SHADOWLESS MAN

"THE WHOLE SWARM PROCEEDED IMMEDIATELY TO RECONNOITRE
      ME AND TO PELT ME WITH MUD"                   _Frontispiece_
                                                    _To face page_

"AN EXTRAORDINARY LOOKING OLD MAN LEFT ME THESE
      PAPERS SAYING HE CAME FROM BERLIN"                         2

FANNY                                                            6

"I DREW THE ILL-FATED PURSE FROM MY BOSOM; AND IN A
      SORT OF FRENZY THAT RAGED LIKE A SELF-FED FIRE
      WITHIN ME, I TOOK OUT GOLD--GOLD--GOLD"                   16

"AND TREMBLING LIKE A CRIMINAL STOLE OUT OF THE HOUSE"          18

"I SUFFERED HER TO FALL FROM MY ARM IN A FAINTING FIT"          28

"SHE ADVANCED FROM THE MIDST OF HER COMPANIONS, AND
      BLUSHINGLY KNELT BEFORE ME PRESENTING A WREATH"           30

"NEXT EVENING I WENT AGAIN TO THE FORESTER'S GARDEN"            42

"SO SAYING HE DREW MY SHADOW OUT OF HIS POCKET AND
      STRETCHED IT OUT AT HIS FEET IN THE SUN"                  50

"ALONE ON THE WILD HEATH I DISBURDENED MY HEART"                52

THE FOREST OF ANCIENT FIRS                                      62

"WITH SOME HESITATION HE PUT HIS HAND INTO HIS POCKET
      AND DREW OUT THE ALTERED AND PALLID FORM OF MR.
      JOHN"                                                     76

THE DREAM                                                       78

"AND SO WAS OBLIGED TO CONTENT MYSELF WITH A
      SECONDHAND PAIR"                                          80

THE FROZEN SEA                                                  82

"AT LAST I SAT DOWN AT THE EXTREME POINT OF LOMBOCK
      LAMENTING"                                                 86

PETER AT HOME                                                   92

                             THE COLD HEART

                                                    _To face page_

DUTCH MICHAEL FELLING THE TREES                                 14

PETER'S DREAM                                                   22

"HAVE YOU HAD ENOUGH, THEY ASKED HIM"                           24

"PETER MUNK! WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE PINE GROVE"              26

"THEN IN A FLASH A MONSTROUS WOODCOCK SWEPT DOWN
      FROM ABOVE AND SEIZED THE SNAKE IN ITS BEAK"              28

"YOU HAVEN'T QUITE HIT IT, CHARCOAL PETER"                      30

PETER GAMBLING AT THE INN                                       36

"SO HERE WE ARE AT THE END OF IT ALL"                           40

"THEN THE MONSTER STRETCHED FORTH AN ARM AS LONG AS A
      WEAVER'S BEAM AND A HAND AS BROAD AS A LARGE
      TABLE"                                                    46

"AH, HAVE MERCY, GOOD LADY AND GIVE ME A DRINK OF
      WATER"                                                    58

"BUT SCARCELY HAD HE UTTERED THESE WORDS THAN THE
      GLASS MANIKIN SUDDENLY BEGAN TO INCREASE IN SIZE
      AND STATURE"                                              62

"AND AS HE PRAYED MICHAEL DECREASED MORE AND MORE IN
      SIZE, FALLING TO THE GROUND"                              68

"LOOK ONCE MORE AROUND, PETER MUNK!"                            72

                              INTRODUCTION

                      LOUIS ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO

In 1813 Europe was busy watching the career of the Corsican
Giant--which was nearing its end. Having reached the summit of power,
and put his foot on the neck of Europe, Napoleon was suddenly hurled
down from his dizzy height. And yet in the midst of stirring events and
the din of arms, people found time to pay attention to important
literary productions. A curious book, "The Strange Narrative of Peter
Schlemihl," by Louis Adelbert von Chamisso, which made its first
appearance in Germany in 1813, aroused an ever increasing interest, in
spite of the distraction of the public mind, until the name of the
author became world-famous.

Chamisso was by birth a Frenchman, having been born at the castle of
Bon-Court in Champagne, on January 27, 1781.[1] On the outbreak of the
French Revolution our author left France with his parents; and in 1795
we find them in Bayreuth, which then belonged to the King of Prussia,
the Margrave of Anspach having sold the town to his Prussian Majesty in
1791. Chamisso's parents at last came to Berlin, and young Adelbert was
appointed page to Queen Louise. This famous queen, wife of Frederic
William II. and mother of Frederic William III., took a lively interest
in the young page and decided to complete his somewhat neglected
education. A commission in the army was secured for him, he was made
ensign and soon afterwards lieutenant. Napoleon having in the meantime
become First Consul, he recalled the French emigrants, and Chamisso's
parents availed themselves of the permission and returned to their
home, but they nevertheless advised their son to remain in Prussian
service. Adelbert obeyed them, although he felt far from happy in
Berlin. The service of page did not please him, and his correspondence
is full of passages revealing the melancholy state of his mind. The
court atmosphere was stifling him, and his poverty caused him a great
deal of humiliation. We see him, at that time, as a young man of a
serious and independent disposition, a dreamer and a sceptic, timid and
naive, dissatisfied with his position as page and as soldier, unhappy
in his exile, his misery and his solitude!

But at last Chamisso found consolation in work. With great ardour he
applied himself to the study of the German language and literature, and
particularly to poetry and philosophy. He learned Greek, and the Iliad
became his constant companion. Klopstock and Schiller attracted him
greatly; but he also read J. J. Rousseau, Voltaire and Diderot. He
published several poems in the language of his adopted country,
compositions distinguished by an originality of style and a peculiar
vigour. Chamisso's first work is supposed to have been "The Count de
Comminges," written in 1801 or 1802. It is not an original work, but
rather an imitation or translation of a drama from the pen of Baculard
d'Arnaud, produced in 1790. Later on he read Wieland and Goethe, and in
1803 appeared his Faust, in which the influence of the philosophy of
Fichte made itself felt. It was also in this year that love, by the
side of poetry and metaphysics, occupied the mind and heart of the
young lieutenant. Chamisso fell in love with Madame Cérès Duvernay, a
young French coquette widow, of whom--unlike Sam Weller--he did not
learn to beware. He had made her acquaintance in the salon of the
banker Ephraim, and asked her to marry him. Madame Duvernay, however,
was a practical Frenchwoman and refused the legitimate love of the poor
lieutenant! This love affair and its sad ending increased Chamisso's
melancholy and his inclination for solitude. The war with France then
broke out, and Chamisso tasted the bitterness which is so often the lot
of that unhappy product of modern civilization and political
circumstances: _the naturalized alien_! He found himself in an
anomalous position which caused him great distress, for it isolated him
among many millions. Although a naturalized German, nay, at heart
attached to Germany and animated--like so many of his _confrères_--by
the spirit of liberty--he was nevertheless of French parentage. It was
not only a question whether he should take up arms on behalf of
Germany, but also, whether he should fight against France and the
people with whom he was connected by ties of blood and family
relationship. Hence arose a struggle in his breast. "I, and I alone,"
he exclaimed in his despair, "am forbidden at this juncture to wield a
sword!" Very few people understand the tragedy of those exiles who are
compelled to seek a new home and adopt a new country which they love as
much, if not more, than the people among whom they have come to dwell.
Instead of meeting with sympathy on account of his peculiar situation,
Chamisso was frequently doomed to hear, in the Capital of Prussia, the
headquarters of the confederation against France and Napoleon,
expressions of hatred and scorn directed against his countrymen. He was
himself too fair-minded to mistake the cause of such expressions, which
were, after all, only natural in the circumstances, but they
nevertheless deeply hurt the sensitive poet when they reached his ears.

After the treaty of Tilsit had been signed by Napoleon and the King of
Prussia, Chamisso visited France, where his family regained possession
of part of their estates, and our author secured, for a short time, the
post of professor at the school at Napoléonville in the Vendée. It was
during his stay in France that Chamisso was drawn into the circle of
Madame de Stael, and he followed her to Coppet, where she had been
exiled by Napoleon in 1811. In the house of this "magnificent and
wonderful woman," as he calls her in his letters, he passed
incomparable days in the company of August Wilhelm von Schlegel, Madame
Récamier and other celebrities. It was also then that he began to study
botany on the advice of an English friend. Soon, however, Chamisso
returned to Berlin, which was to him what Delphi once was to the
ancient Athenians. He continued his botanical studies and at the age of
31 entered the University as a student of medicine. Again the war broke
out, and the uprising of the Germans against Napoleon involved Chamisso
once more in the popular hatred against the French. Anyone who lays
claim to some historical knowledge and a dash of culture is acquainted
with the events of 1813. A wave of patriotic enthusiasm swept over
Germany, and Germans rose like one man, in answer to the appeal of
Frederic William, King of Prussia. Houses, streets and universities
resounded with the clash of arms and the shouts of war-like patriots.
In the midst of this effervescence Chamisso suffered greatly. He loved
Germany and liberty, but he also cherished France, his native land;
moreover, he could not help admiring Napoleon, in spite of the latter's
tyranny. While the German poets Koerner and Eichendorff took up arms,
while Arndt, Rückert and Uhland fired the courage of their compatriots
by their warlike songs, Chamisso not only stood alone, but was even
exposed to danger. His friends therefore decided to remove him from
Berlin. Lichtenstein, his professor at the University, found him a
position as teacher in the family of Count Itzenplitz, where he taught
French and botany. He was sufficiently near to the capital to be kept
acquainted with the gradual development of the all-important crisis,
and yet remained free from any unpleasant personal contact with it!
Here, at Kunnersdorf, the family seat of Count Itzenplitz, scarcely a
day's journey from Berlin, while occupied with the study of botany and
other sciences, Chamisso conceived the idea of "The Shadowless Man,"
and with rapid pen completed the story.

One day, to divert himself and to amuse the wife and children of his
friend Hitzig, whom Heine calls _Der Dekan der Schlemihle_, he wrote
Peter Schlemihl.

In 1814, this wonderful narrative was brought to the notice of Baron de
la Motte Fouqué, the celebrated author of _Undine_, under whose
auspices the book was published with the following letter from de la
Motte Fouqué to Julius Edward Hitzig, by way of introduction:--

           FROM THE BARON DE LA MOTTE FOUQUE TO JULIUS EDWARD
                                 HITZIG.

We should take care, my dear Edward, not to expose the history of poor
Schlemihl to eyes unfit to look upon it. That would be a bad
experiment. Of such eyes there are plenty; and who is able to predict
what may befall a _manuscript_, which is almost more difficult to guard
than spoken language? Like a person seized with vertigo, therefore,
who, in the paroxysm of his feelings, leaps into the abyss, I commit
the story to the press.

And yet there are better and more serious reasons for the step I have
taken. If I am not wholly deceived, there are in our dear Germany many
hearts both capable and worthy of comprehending poor Schlemihl,
although a smile will arise on the countenance of many among our honest
countrymen at the bitter sport which was death to him and to the
innocent being whom he drew along with him. And you, Edward, when you
have seen the estimable work and reflected on the number of unknown and
sympathising bosoms who, with ourselves, will learn to love it,--you
will then, perhaps, feel that some drops of consolation have been
instilled into those wounds inflicted on you, and on all who love you,
by death.

To conclude: I have become convinced, by repeated experience, that a
guardian angel watches over books, places them in proper hands, and if
not always, yet often, prevents them from falling into improper. In any
case, he exercises an invisible guardianship over every work of true
genius and genuine feeling, and with unfailing tact and skill opens or
shuts its pages as he sees fit.

To this guardian angel I commit our Schlemihl. And so, adieu!

Neunhausen, May 1814.                                       FOUQUÉ.

Some of the incidents of the wonderful story of "The Shadowless Man"
were suggested by actual experiences of its author; and it is
remarkable that in the latter part of the narrative Chamisso should
have anticipated his own voyage round the world.

Chamisso was often pestered with questions respecting what he really
meant by the story of Schlemihl. These questions amused as well as
annoyed him. The truth is, that his intention in writing it was perhaps
scarcely of so precise a nature as to admit of his giving a formal
account of it. The story sprang into being of itself, like every work
of genius, prompted by a self-creating power. In a letter which he
wrote to Trinius, Councillor at St. Petersburg in 1829, Chamisso says:
"When I write I rarely have anything in view; I am, if you like, a
nightingale, a singing bird, and not a reasoning man." And when he had
just commenced the book he wrote to Hitzig as follows: "A book was the
last thing you would have expected from me! Place it before your wife
this evening, if you have time; should she be desirous to know
Schlemihl's further adventures, and particularly who the man in the
grey cloak is--send me back the MS. immediately, that I may continue
the story; but if you do not return it, I shall know the meaning of the
signal perfectly." "One day," Chamisso further relates, "I had lost my
hat, portmanteau, gloves and all my luggage, and Fouqué asked me
jestingly whether I had also lost my shadow. We then amused ourselves
imagining such a calamity. I conceived the idea of Peter Schlemihl, and
as I had leisure in the country I wrote the story."

In the preface to a French translation (which appeared in 1838) of this
story, Chamisso amuses himself over the prying curiosity of those who
want to know what was his real object in writing this tale:--"The
present story," he says, "has fallen into the hands of thoughtful
people, who, being accustomed to read only for instruction's sake, have
been at a loss to know what the shadow signifies. On this point several
have formed curious hypotheses; others, who do me the honour to believe
that I am more learned than I really am, have addressed themselves to
me for the solution of their doubts. The questions with which they have
besieged me have made me blush on account of my ignorance. I have
therefore been induced to devote myself to the investigation of a
matter not hitherto the subject of my studies; and I now beg to submit
to the world the result of my learned researches:

"'_Concerning Shadows._--A dark body can only be partially illuminated
by a bright one. The dark space which lies in the direction of the
un-illuminated part is what we call a _shadow_. Properly speaking,
shadow signifies a bodily space, the form of which depends upon the
form of the illuminating body, and upon their opposite position with
regard to each other. The shadow thrown on a surface situated before
the shadow-projecting body is therefore nothing else than the
intersection of this surface by the bodily space [in French, _le
solide_, on which word _solid_ the whole force of the humour turns],
which we before designated by the word shadow.'

"The question in this wonderful history of Peter Schlemihl relates
entirely to the last-mentioned quality, _solidity_. The science of
finance instructs us sufficiently as to the value of money: the value
of a shadow is less generally acknowledged. My thoughtless friend was
covetous of money, of which he knew the value, and forgot to think of
solid substance. It was his wish that the lesson which he had paid for
so dearly should be turned to our profit; and his bitter experience
calls to us with a loud voice. Think of the solid--the substantial!"

In Peter Schlemihl, it is practically admitted by all literary critics,
Chamisso drew his own portrait, not only with regard to external
appearance but also in a moral sense. He is supposed to have described
his own sufferings, the sufferings of a man who has lost his fatherland
and nationality, and is an exile. Peter Schlemihl, the shadowless man,
at last finds consolation and reconciliation in wandering over the face
of earth. Here again the author mirrors his own yearning in a moment
when--in the tumult of war--he, a German Frenchman or a French German,
finds no proper place in countries limited by political boundaries. He
strove therefore to rise above the quarrels of the human race and to
wander forth into the vast space of nature, or plunge into the depths
of science! His dream soon became realised, when he found himself on
board the Rurik. It was in the early part of 1815 when Chamisso
gladly accepted the invitation of Count Roumyanzov to accompany the
latter on a voyage round the world. The ships left Kronstadt in 1815,
and returned in 1818, and although the discovery of a north-west
passage--the object of the expedition--was not accomplished, yet
extensive acquisitions were made in every department of scientific
research.

Chamisso's share in the voyage is recorded in the third volume of the
account of it published at Weimar in 1821, and does honour to his spirit
of careful observation and his accuracy. Like Darwin after him,
Chamisso has related his experiences interspersed with scientific
observations. He now again fixed his residence at Berlin, from which
University he received the degree of Doctor in Philosophy. An
appointment at the Botanic Gardens allowed him full liberty to follow
up his favourite pursuit of Natural History, and bound him by still
stronger ties to his second fatherland. He soon married Antonie Piaste,
a relation of Hitzig. Chamisso then wrote an account of the principal
plants of the north of Germany, with views respecting the vegetable
kingdom, and science of Botany; this work appeared at Berlin in 1827.
Poetry, however, had still some share of his attention; and he
continued, during the latter years of his life, to maintain his claims
to an honourable place among the poets of Germany. In 1829 he published
his famous work "Salas y Gomez." Several of his ballads and romances
rank with the most distinguished of modern times in this branch of
composition. With regard to the story before us, the narrative of Peter
Schlemihl, it is in any case very original. At once comic and tragic,
grotesque and terrible, it is full of gaiety and emotion, and the
supernatural, phantastic and absurd are skillfully mixed with natural
and real elements. From the world which we inhabit the author leads us
into the realm of mystery--and yet, while we experience sensations of
the marvellous, we do not seem to leave the world of reality. And
herein lies the difference between Peter Schlemihl and other tales of
the period. In Tieck and Arnim the fairy and real worlds are opposed
and hostile to each other, in Fouqué's _Undine_ these elements are
reconciled, but the events are laid in the middle-ages, when people
believed in fairies. Chamisso, however, wields into one the
supernatural and the real and writes a fable in accordance with modern
civilization! Of course, Chamisso cannot be compared with Ariosto and
The Thousand and One Nights,--where we find logic even in the domain of
the impossible. Chamisso, it must further be pointed out, while
possessing all the qualities of the Romanticists, is free from their
obscurities. His nationally dual nature and his peculiar poetic gifts
enabled him to give expression in poetry to the variegated
manifestations of science and of art. He contributed greatly to the
unification of the national German and foreign elements, and was one of
the most useful and productive workers in the lovely garden of fairy
tales. Surrounded by a circle of admiring friends, Chamisso continued
his literary work until his death in 1839.

                                                   A. S. RAPPOPORT.

Berck-Plage,
      September, 1913.

FOOTNOTE TO THE INTRODUCTION:

[Footnote 1: From certain passages in Chamisso's works it appears,
however, that he was born on January 31st.--Cf. Brun X., A. de
Chamisso's de Boncourt, Lyon, 1895, p. 4.]

                       THE MARVELLOUS HISTORY OF
                           THE SHADOWLESS MAN

[Illustration: "An extraordinary looking old man left me these papers,
saying he came from Berlin."]

                         AUTHOR'S INTRODUCTION

            A LETTER FROM CHAMISSO TO JULIUS EDWARD HITZIG.

You, who forget nobody, must surely remember one Peter Schlemihl, whom
you used to meet occasionally at my house,--a long-legged youth, who
was considered stupid and lazy, on account of his awkward and careless
air. I was sincerely attached to him. You cannot have forgotten him,
Edward. He was, on one occasion, the hero of our rhymes, in the hey-day
of our youthful spirits; and I recollect taking him one evening to a
poetical tea-party, where he fell asleep while I was writing, without
even waiting to hear my effusion: and this reminds me of a witticism of
yours respecting him. You had already seen him, I know not where or
when, in an old black frock-coat, which indeed, he constantly wore; and
you said, "He would be a lucky fellow if his soul were half as immortal
as his coat,"--so little opinion had you of him. _I_ loved him,
however: and to this very Schlemihl, of whom for many years I had
wholly lost sight, I am indebted for the little volume which I
communicate to you, Edward, my most intimate friend, my second self,
from whom I have no secrets;--to you, and of course our Fouqué, I
commit them, who, like you, is intimately entwined about my dearest
affections,--to him I communicate them only as a friend, but not as a
poet; for you can easily imagine how unpleasant it would be if a secret
confided to me by an honest man, relying implicitly on my friendship
and honour, were to be exposed to the public in a poem.

One word more as to the manner in which I obtained these sheets;
yesterday morning early, as soon as I was up, they were brought to me.
An extraordinary-looking man, with a long grey beard, and wearing an
old black frock-coat, with a botanical case hanging at his side and
slippers over his boots, in the damp, rainy weather, had just been
inquiring for me, and left me these papers, saying he came from Berlin.

                                             ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO.

           The Marvellous History of the Shadowless Man

                               CHAPTER I

After a prosperous, but to me very wearisome, voyage, we came at last
into port. Immediately on landing, I got together my few effects; and,
squeezing myself through the crowd, went into the nearest and humblest
inn which first met my gaze. On asking for a room, the waiter looked at
me from head to foot, and conducted me to one. I asked for some cold
water, and for the correct address of Mr. Thomas John, which was
described as being "by the north gate, the first country-house to the
right, a large new house of red and white marble, with many pillars."
This was enough. As the day was not far advanced, I untied my bundle,
took out my newly-turned black coat, dressed myself in my best clothes,
and, with my letter of recommendation, set out for the man who was to
assist me in the attainment of my moderate wishes.

After proceeding up North Street, I reached the gate, and saw the
marble columns glittering through the trees. Having wiped the dust from
my shoes with my pocket-handkerchief, and re-adjusted my cravat, I rang
the bell--offering up, at the same time, a silent prayer. The door flew
open; and the porter sent in my name. I had soon the honour to be
invited into the park, where Mr. John was walking with a few friends. I
recognised him at once by his corpulency and self-complacent air. He
received me very well; just as a rich man receives a poor devil; and,
turning to me, took my letter.

"Oh, from my brother! It is a long time since I heard from him, is he
well?--Yonder," he went on, turning to the company, and pointing to a
distant hill--"Yonder is the site of the new building." He broke the
seal without discontinuing the conversation, which turned upon riches.
"The man," he said, "who does not possess at least a million is a poor
wretch."

"O how true!" I exclaimed, in the fulness of my heart.

He seemed pleased at this, and replied with a smile, "Stop here, my
dear friend; afterwards I shall, perhaps, have time to tell you what I
think of this," pointing to the letter, which he then put into his
pocket, and turned round to the company, offering his arm to a young
lady. His example was followed by the other gentlemen, each politely
escorting a lady; and the whole party proceeded towards a little hill
thickly planted with blooming roses.

I followed without troubling any one, for none took the least further
notice of me. The party were in high spirits--lounging about and
jesting--speaking sometimes of trifling matters very seriously, and of
serious matters as triflingly--and exercising their wit in particular
to great advantage on their absent friends and their affairs. I was too
ignorant of what they were talking about to understand much of it, and
too anxious and absorbed in my own reflections to occupy myself with
the solution of such enigmas as their conversation presented.

By this time we had reached the thicket of roses. A beautiful girl, who
seemed to be the queen of the day, was obstinately bent on plucking a
rose-branch for herself, and, in the attempt, pricked her finger with a
thorn. The crimson stream, as if flowing from the dark-tinted rose,
tinged her fair hand with the purple current. This circumstance set the
whole company in commotion; and court-plaster was called for. A quiet,
elderly man, tall, and meagre-looking, who was one of the company, but
whom I had not before observed, immediately put his hand into the tight
breast-pocket of his old-fashioned coat of grey sarsnet, pulled out a
small letter-case, opened it, and, with a most respectful bow,
presented the lady with the wished-for article. She received it without
noticing the giver, or thanking him. The wound was bound up; and the
party proceeded along the hill towards the back part, from which they
enjoyed an extensive view across the green labyrinth of the park to the
wide-spreading ocean.

The view was truly a magnificent one. A slight speck was observed on
the horizon, between the dark flood and the azure sky.

"A telescope!" called out Mr. John. But before any of the servants
could answer the summons, the grey man, with a modest bow, drew his
hand from his pocket, and presented a beautiful Dollond's telescope to
Mr. John, who, on looking through it, informed the company that the
speck in the distance was the ship which had sailed yesterday, and
which was detained within sight of the haven by contrary winds.

The telescope passed from hand to hand, but was not returned to the
owner, whom I gazed at with astonishment, for I could not conceive how
so large an instrument could have proceeded from so small a pocket.
This, however, seemed to excite surprise in no one; and the grey man
appeared to create as little interest as myself.

Refreshments were now brought forward, consisting of the rarest fruits
from all parts of the world, served up in the most costly dishes. Mr.
John did the honours with unaffected grace, and addressed me for the
second time, saying, "You had better eat; you did not get such things
at sea." I acknowledged his politeness with a bow, which, however, he
did not perceive, having turned round to speak with some one else.

The party would willingly have stopped some time here on the declivity
of the hill, to enjoy the extensive prospect before them, had they not
been apprehensive of the dampness of the grass.

"How delightful it would be," exclaimed some one, "if we had a Turkey
carpet to lay down here!"

The wish was scarcely expressed, when the man in the grey coat put his
hand in his pocket, and, with a modest and even humble air, pulled out
a rich Turkey carpet, embroidered in gold. The servant received it as a
matter of course, and spread it out on the desired spot; and, without
any ceremony, the company seated themselves on it. Confounded by what I
saw, I gazed again at the man, his pocket, and the carpet, which was
more than twenty feet in length and ten in breadth; and rubbed my eyes,
not knowing what to think, particularly as no one saw anything
extraordinary in the matter.

I would gladly have made some inquiries respecting the man, and asked
who he was, but knew not to whom I should address myself, for I felt
almost more afraid of the servants than of their master. At length I
took courage, and stepping up to a young man who seemed of less
consequence than the others, and who was more frequently standing by
himself, I begged of him, in a low tone, to tell me who was the
obliging gentleman in the grey cloak.

"That man who looks like a piece of thread just escaped from a tailor's
needle?"

"Yes; he who is standing alone yonder."

"I do not know," was the reply; and to avoid, as it seemed, any further
conversation with me, he turned away, and spoke of some common-place
matters with a neighbour.

The sun's rays now becoming stronger, the ladies complained of feeling
oppressed by the heat; and the lovely Fanny, she who had pricked her
finger with the thorn, turning carelessly to the grey man, to whom I
had not yet observed that any one had addressed the most trifling
question, asked him if, perhaps, he had not a tent about him. He
replied with a low bow, as if some unmerited honour had been conferred
upon him; and, putting his hand in his pocket, drew from it canvass,
poles, cord, irons--in short, every thing belonging to the most
splendid tent for a party of pleasure. The young gentlemen assisted in
pitching it; and it covered the whole carpet: but no one seemed to
think that there was anything extraordinary in it.

I had long secretly felt uneasy--indeed, almost horrified; but how was
this feeling increased when, at the next wish expressed, I saw him take
from his pocket three horses! Yes, three large beautiful steeds, with
saddles and bridles, out of the very pocket whence had already issued a
letter-case, a telescope, a carpet twenty feet broad and ten in length,
and a pavilion of the same extent, with all its appurtenances!

This man, although he appeared so humble and embarrassed in his air and
manners, and passed so unheeded, had inspired me with such a feeling of
horror by the unearthly paleness of his countenance, from which I could
not avert my eyes, that I was unable longer to endure it.

I determined, therefore, to steal away from the company, which appeared
no difficult matter, from the undistinguished part I acted in it. I
resolved to return to the town, and pay another visit to Mr. John the
following morning, and, at the same time, make some inquiries of him
relative to the extraordinary man in grey, provided I could command
sufficient courage. Would to Heaven that such good fortune had awaited
me!

I had stolen safely down the hill, through the thicket of roses, and
now found myself on an open plain; but fearing lest I should be met out
of the proper path, crossing the grass, I cast an inquisitive glance
around, and started as I beheld the man in the grey cloak advancing
towards me. He took off his hat, and made me a lower bow than mortal
had ever yet favoured me with. It was evident that he wished to address
me; and I could not avoid encountering him without seeming rude. I
returned his salutation, therefore, and stood bareheaded in the
sunshine, as if rooted to the ground. I gazed at him with the utmost
horror, and felt like a bird fascinated by a serpent.

He affected himself to have an air of embarrassment. With his eyes on
the ground, he bowed several times, drew nearer, and at last, without
looking up, addressed me in a low and hesitating voice, almost in the
tone of a suppliant: "Will you, sir, excuse my importunity in venturing
to intrude upon you in so unusual a manner? I have a request to
make,--would you most graciously be pleased to allow me--?"

"Hold! for Heaven's sake!" I exclaimed; "what can I do for a man
who"--I stopped in some confusion, which he seemed to share.

After a moment's pause, he resumed: "During the short time I have
had the pleasure to be in your company, I have--permit me, sir, to
say--beheld with unspeakable admiration your most beautiful shadow, and
remarked the air of noble indifference with which you, at the same
time, turn from the glorious picture at your feet, as if disdaining to
vouchsafe a glance at it. Excuse the boldness of my proposal; but
perhaps you would have no objection to sell me your shadow?"

He stopped; while my head turned round like a millwheel. What was I to
think of so extraordinary a proposal? To sell my shadow!

"He must be mad," thought I; and assuming a tone more in character with
the submissiveness of his own, I replied, "My good friend, are you not
content with your own shadow? This would be a bargain of a strange
nature indeed!"

"I have in my pocket," he said, "many things which may possess some
value in your eyes: for that inestimable shadow, I should deem the
highest price too little."

A cold shuddering came over me as I recollected the pocket; and I could
not conceive what had induced me to style him "_good friend_," which I
took care not to repeat, endeavouring to make up for it by a studied
politeness.

I now resumed the conversation:--"But, sir--excuse your humble
servant--I am at a loss to comprehend your meaning,--my shadow!--how
can I?"

"Permit me," he exclaimed, interrupting me, "to gather up the noble
image as it lies on the ground, and to take it into my possession. As
to the manner of accomplishing it, leave that to me. In return, and as
an evidence of my gratitude, I shall leave you to choose among all the
treasures I have in my pocket, among which are a variety of enchanting
articles, not exactly adapted for you, who, I am sure, would like
better to have the wishing-cap of Fortunatus, all made new and sound
again, and a lucky purse, which also belonged to him."

"Fortunatus's purse!" cried I; and, great as was my mental anguish,
with that one word he had penetrated the deepest recesses of my soul. A
feeling of giddiness came over me, and double ducats glittered before
my eyes.

"Be pleased, gracious sir, to examine this purse, and make a trial of
its contents."

He put his hand in his pocket, and drew forth a large strongly stitched
bag of stout Cordovan leather, with a couple of strings to match, and
presented it to me. I seized it--took out ten gold pieces, then ten
more, and this I repeated again and again. Instantly I held out my hand
to him.

"Done," said I; "the bargain is made: my shadow for the purse."

"Agreed," he answered; and, immediately kneeling down, I beheld him,
with extraordinary dexterity, gently loosen my shadow from the grass,
lift it up, fold it together, and, at last, put it in his pocket. He
then rose, bowed once more to me, and directed his steps towards the
rose-bushes. I fancied I heard him quietly laughing to himself.
However, I held the purse fast by the two strings. The earth was
basking beneath the brightness of the sun; but I presently lost all
consciousness.

                           *   *   *   *   *

On recovering my senses, I hastened to quit a place where I hoped there
was nothing further to detain me. I first filled my pockets with gold,
then fastened the strings of the purse round my neck, and concealed it
in my bosom. I passed unnoticed out of the park, gained the high road,
and took the way to the town.

As I was thoughtfully approaching the gate, I heard some one behind me
exclaiming, "Young man! young man! you have lost your shadow!" I
turned, and perceived an old woman calling after me. "Thank you,
my good woman," said I; and throwing her a piece of gold for her
well-intended information, I stepped under the trees.

At the gate, again, it was my fate to hear the sentry inquiring where
the gentleman had left his shadow; and immediately I heard a couple of
women exclaiming, "Jesu Maria! the poor man has no shadow!" All this
began to depress me, and I carefully avoided walking in the sun; but
this could not everywhere be the case: for in the next broad street I
had to cross, and, unfortunately for me, at the very hour in which the
boys were coming out of school, a humpbacked lout of a fellow,--I see
him yet,--soon made the discovery that I was without a shadow, and
communicated the news, with loud outcries, to a knot of young urchins.
The whole swarm proceeded immediately to reconnoitre me, and to pelt me
with mud. "People," cried they, "are generally accustomed to take their
shadows with them when they walk in the sunshine."

In order to drive them away, I threw gold by handfuls among them, and
sprang into a hackney-coach which happened to be passing.

As soon as I found myself alone in the rolling vehicle, I began to weep
bitterly. I had by this time a misgiving that, in the same degree in
which gold in this world prevails over merit and virtue, by so much
one's shadow excels gold; and now that I had sacrificed my conscience
for riches, and given my shadow in exchange for mere gold, what on
earth would become of me?

As the coach stopped at the door of my late inn, I felt much perplexed,
and not at all disposed to enter so wretched an abode. I called for my
things, and received them with an air of contempt, threw down a few
gold pieces, and desired to be conducted to a first-rate hotel. This
house had a  northern aspect, so that I had nothing to fear from the
sun. I dismissed the coachman with gold; asked to be conducted to the
best apartment, and locked myself up in it as soon as possible.

Imagine, my friend, what I then set about? O my dear Chamisso! even to
thee I blush to mention what follows.

[Illustration: I drew the ill-fated purse from my bosom and took
gold--gold--gold, more and more.]

I drew the ill-fated purse from my bosom; and, in a sort of frenzy that
raged like a self-fed fire within me, I took out gold--gold--gold--more
and more, till I strewed it on the floor, trampled upon it, and
feasting on its very sound and brilliancy, added coins to coins,
rolling and revelling on the gorgeous bed, until I sank exhausted.

Thus passed away that day and evening; and as my door remained locked,
night found me still lying on the gold, where, at last, sleep
overpowered me.

Then I dreamed of thee, and fancied I stood behind the glass door of
thy little room, and saw thee seated at thy table between a skeleton
and a bunch of dried plants; before thee lay open the works of Haller,
Humboldt, and Linnæus; on thy sofa a volume of Goethe, and the
Enchanted Ring. I stood a long time contemplating thee, and every thing
in thy apartment; and again turning my gaze upon thee, I perceived that
thou wast motionless--thou didst not breathe--thou wast dead.

I awoke--it seemed yet early--my watch had stopped. I felt thirsty,
faint, and worn out; for since the preceding morning I had not tasted
food. I now cast from me, with loathing and disgust, the very gold with
which but a short time before I had satiated my foolish heart. Now I
knew not where to put it--I dared not leave it lying there. I examined
my purse to see if it would hold it,--impossible! Neither of my windows
opened on the sea. I had no other resource but, with toil and great
fatigue, to drag it to a huge chest which stood in a closet in my room;
where I placed it all, with the exception of a handful or two. Then I
threw myself, exhausted, into an arm-chair, till the people of the
house should be up and stirring. As soon as possible, I sent for some
refreshment, and desired to see the landlord.

I entered into some conversation with this man respecting the
arrangement of my future establishment. He recommended for my personal
attendant one Bendel, whose honest and intelligent countenance
immediately prepossessed me in his favour. It is this individual whose
persevering attachment has consoled me in all the miseries of my life,
and enabled me to bear up under my wretched lot. I was occupied the
whole day in my room with servants in want of a situation, and
tradesmen of every description. I decided on my future plans, and
purchased various articles of vertue and splendid jewels, in order to
get rid of some of my gold; but nothing seemed to diminish the
inexhaustible heap.

[Illustration: And trembling like a criminal, stole out of the house.]

I now reflected on my situation with the utmost uneasiness. I dared not
take a single step beyond my own door; and in the evening I had forty
wax-tapers lighted before I ventured to leave the shade. I reflected
with horror on the frightful encounter with the school-boys; yet I
resolved, if I could command sufficient courage, to put the public
opinion to a second trial. The nights were now moonlight. Late in the
evening I wrapped myself in a large cloak, pulled my hat over my eyes,
and, trembling like a criminal, stole out of the house.

I did not venture to leave the friendly shadow of the houses until I
had reached a distant part of the town: and then I emerged into the
broad moonlight, fully prepared to hear my fate from the lips of the
passers-by.

Spare me, my beloved friend, the painful recital of all that I was
doomed to endure. The women often expressed the deepest sympathy for
me--a sympathy not less piercing to my soul than the scoffs of the
young people, and the proud contempt of the men, particularly of the
more corpulent, who threw an ample shadow before them. A fair and
beauteous maiden, apparently accompanied by her parents, who gravely
kept looking straight before them, chanced to cast a beaming glance at
me; but was evidently startled at perceiving that I was without a
shadow, and hiding her lovely face in her veil, and holding down her
head, passed silently on.

This was past all endurance. Tears streamed from my eyes; and with a
heart pierced through and through, I once more took refuge in the
shade. I leant on the houses for support, and reached home at a late
hour, worn out with fatigue.

I passed a sleepless night. My first care the following morning was, to
devise some means of discovering the man in the grey cloak. Perhaps I
may succeed in finding him; and how fortunate it were if he should be
as ill satisfied with his bargain as I am with mine!

I desired Bendel to be sent for, who seemed to possess some tact and
ability. I minutely described to him the individual who possessed a
treasure without which life itself was rendered a burden to me. I
mentioned the time and place at which I had seen him, named all
the persons who were present, and concluded with the following
directions:--he was to inquire for a Dollond's telescope, a Turkey
carpet interwoven with gold, a marquee, and, finally, for some black
steeds,--the history, without entering into particulars, of all these
being singularly connected with the mysterious character who seemed to
pass unnoticed by every one, but whose appearance had destroyed the
peace and happiness of my life.

As I spoke, I produced as much gold as I could hold in my two hands,
and added jewels and precious stones of still greater value. "Bendel,"
said I, "this smooths many a path, and renders that easy which seems
almost impossible. Be not sparing of it, for I am not so; but go, and
rejoice thy master with intelligence on which depends all his hopes."

He departed, and returned late and melancholy. None of Mr. John's
servants, none of his guests (and Bendel had spoken to them all) had
the slightest recollection of the man in the grey cloak. The new
telescope was still there, but no one knew how it had come; and the
tent and Turkey carpet were still stretched out on the hill. The
servants boasted of their master's wealth; but no one seemed to know by
what means he had become possessed of these newly acquired luxuries. He
was gratified; and it gave him no concern to be ignorant how they had
come to him. The black coursers which had been mounted on that day were
in the stables of the young gentlemen of the party, who admired them as
the munificent present of Mr. John.

Such was the information I gained from Bendel's detailed account; but,
in spite of this unsatisfactory result, his zeal and prudence deserved
and received my commendation. In a gloomy mood, I made him a sign to
withdraw.

"I have, sir," he continued, "laid before you all the information in my
power relative to the subject of the most importance to you. I have now
a message to deliver which I received early this morning from a person
at the gate, as I was proceeding to execute the commission in which I
have so unfortunately failed. The man's words were precisely these:
'Tell your master, Peter Schlemihl, he will not see me here again. I am
going to cross the sea; a favourable wind now calls all the passengers
on board; but, in a year and a day, I shall have the honour of paying
him a visit; when, in all probability, I shall have a proposal to make
to him of a very agreeable nature. Commend me to him most respectfully,
with many thanks.' I inquired his name; but he said you would remember
him."

"What sort of person was he?" cried I, in great emotion; and Bendel
described the man in the grey coat, feature by feature, word for word;
in short, the very individual in search of whom he had been sent.

"How unfortunate!" cried I, bitterly; "it was himself."

Scales, as it were, fell from Bendel's eyes.

"Yes, it was he," cried he, "undoubtedly it was he; and fool, madman,
that I was, I did not recognise him--I did not, and have betrayed my
master!"

He then broke out into a torrent of self-reproach; and his distress
really excited my compassion. I endeavoured to console him, repeatedly
assuring him that I entertained no doubt of his fidelity; and
despatched him immediately to the wharf, to discover, if possible, some
trace of the extraordinary being. But on that very morning many
vessels, which had been detained in port by contrary winds, had set
sail, all bound to different parts of the globe; and the grey man had
disappeared with my shadow.

                               CHAPTER II

Of what use were wings to a man fast bound in chains of iron? They
would but increase the horror of his despair. Like the dragon guarding
his treasure, I remained cut off from all human intercourse, and
starving amidst my very gold, for it gave me no pleasure: I
anathematised it as the source of all my wretchedness.

Sole depository of my fearful secret, I trembled before the meanest of
my attendants, whom, at the same time, I envied; for he possessed a
shadow, and could venture to go out in the daytime; while I shut myself
up in my room day and night, and indulged in all the bitterness of
grief.

One individual, however, was daily pining away before my eyes--my
faithful Bendel, who was the victim of silent self-reproach, tormenting
himself with the idea that he had betrayed the confidence reposed in
him by a good master, in failing to recognise the individual in quest
of whom he had been sent, and with whom he had been led to believe that
my melancholy fate was closely connected. Still, I had nothing to
accuse him with, as I recognised in the occurrence the mysterious
character of the unknown.

In order to leave no means untried, I one day despatched Bendel with a
costly ring to the most celebrated artist in the town, desiring him to
wait upon me. He came; and dismissing the attendants, I secured the
door, placing myself opposite to him, and, after extolling his art,
with a heavy heart came to the point, first enjoining the strictest
secrecy.

"For a person," said I, "who most unfortunately has lost his shadow,
could you paint a false one?"

"Do you speak of the natural shadow?"

"Precisely so."

"But," he asked, "by what awkward negligence can a man have lost his
shadow?"

"How it occurred," I answered, "is of no consequence; but it was in
this manner"--(and here I uttered an unblushing falsehood)--"he was
travelling in Russia last winter, and one bitterly cold day it froze so
intensely, that his shadow remained so fixed to the ground, that it was
found impossible to remove it."

"The false shadow that I might paint," said the artist, "would be
liable to be lost on the slightest movement, particularly in a person
who, from your account, cares so little about his shadow. A person
without a shadow should keep out of the sun, that is the only safe and
rational plan."

He rose and took his leave, casting so penetrating a look at me, that I
shrank from it. I sank back in my chair, and hid my face in my hands.

In this attitude Bendel found me, and was about to withdraw silently
and respectfully on seeing me in such a state of grief: looking up,
overwhelmed with my sorrows, I felt that I must communicate them to
him.

"Bendel," I exclaimed, "Bendel, thou the only being who seest and
respectest my grief too much to inquire into its cause--thou who
seemest silently and sincerely to sympathise with me--come and share my
confidence. The extent of my wealth I have not withheld from thee,
neither will I conceal from thee the extent of my grief. Bendel!
forsake me not. Bendel, you see me rich, free, beneficent; you fancy
all the world in my power; yet you must have observed that I shun it,
and avoid all human intercourse. You think Bendel, that the world and I
are at variance; and you yourself, perhaps, will abandon me, when I
acquaint you with this fearful secret. Bendel, I am rich, free,
generous; but, O God, I have _no shadow_!"

"No shadow!" exclaimed the faithful young man, tears starting from his
eyes. "Alas! that I am born to serve a master without a shadow!" He was
silent, and again I hid my face in my hands.

"Bendel," at last I tremblingly resumed, "you have now my confidence;
you may betray me--go--bear witness against me."

He seemed to be agitated with conflicting feelings; at last he threw
himself at my feet and seized my hand, which he bathed with his tears.
"No," he exclaimed; "whatever the world may say, I neither can nor will
forsake my excellent master because he has lost his shadow. I will
rather do what is right than what may seem prudent. I will remain with
you--I will shade you with my own shadow--I will assist you when I
can--and when I cannot, I will weep with you."

I fell upon his neck, astonished at sentiments so unusual; for it was
very evident that he was not prompted by the love of money.

                           *   *   *   *   *

My mode of life and my fate now became somewhat different. It is
incredible with what provident foresight Bendel contrived to conceal my
deficiency. Everywhere he was before me, and with me, providing against
every contingency, and in cases of unlooked-for danger, flying to
shield me with his own shadow, for he was taller and stouter than
myself. Thus I once more ventured among mankind, and began to take a
part in worldly affairs. I was compelled, indeed, to affect certain
peculiarities and whims; but in a rich man they seem only appropriate;
and so long as the truth was kept concealed, I enjoyed all the honour
and respect which gold could procure.

I now looked forward with more composure to the promised visit of the
mysterious unknown at the expiration of the year and a day.

I was very sensible that I could not venture to remain long in a place
where I had once been seen without a shadow, and where I might easily
be betrayed; and perhaps, too, I recollected my first introduction to
Mr. John, and this was by no means a pleasing reminiscence. However, I
wished just to make a trial here, that I might with greater ease and
security visit some other place. But my vanity for some time withheld
me, for it is in this quality of our race that the anchor takes the
firmest hold.

Even the lovely Fanny, whom I again met in several places, without her
seeming to recollect that she had ever seen me before, bestowed some
notice on me; for wit and understanding were mine in abundance now.
When I spoke, I was listened to; and I was at a loss to know how I had
so easily acquired the art of commanding attention, and giving the tone
to the conversation.

The impression which I perceived I had made upon this fair one
completely turned my brain; and this was just what she wished. After
that, I pursued her with infinite pains through every obstacle. My
vanity was only intent on exciting hers to make a conquest of me; but
although the intoxication disturbed my head, it failed to make the
least impression on my heart.

But why detail to you the oft-repeated story which I have so often
heard from yourself?

However, in the old and well-known drama in which I played so worn-out
a part, a catastrophe occurred of quite a peculiar nature, in a manner
equally unexpected to her, to me, and to everybody.

[Illustration: "I suffered her to fall from my arm in a fainting fit."]

One beautiful evening I had, according to my usual custom, assembled a
party in a garden, and was walking arm in arm with Fanny at a little
distance from the rest of the company, and pouring into her ear the
usual well-turned phrases, while she was demurely gazing on vacancy,
and now and then gently returning the pressure of my hand. The moon
suddenly emerged from behind a cloud at our back. Fanny perceived only
her own shadow before us. She started, looked at me with terror, and
then again on the ground, in search of my shadow. All that was passing
in her mind was so strangely depicted in her countenance, that I should
have burst into a loud fit of laughter, had I not suddenly felt my
blood run cold within me. I suffered her to fall from my arm in a
fainting-fit; shot with the rapidity of an arrow through the astonished
guests, reached the gate, threw myself into the first conveyance I met
with, and returned to the town, where this time, unfortunately, I had
left the wary Bendel.

He was alarmed on seeing me: one word explained all. Post-horses were
immediately procured. I took with me none of my servants, one cunning
knave only excepted, called Rascal, who had by his adroitness become
very serviceable to me, and who at present knew nothing of what had
occurred. I travelled thirty leagues that night; having left Bendel
behind to discharge my servants, pay my debts, and bring me all that
was necessary.

When he came up with me next day, I threw myself into his arms, vowing
to avoid such follies and to be more careful for the future.

We pursued our journey uninterruptedly over the frontiers and
mountains; and it was not until I had placed this lofty barrier
between myself and the before-mentioned unlucky town, that I was
persuaded to recruit myself, after my fatigues, in a neighbouring and
little-frequented watering-place.

                           *   *   *   *   *

I must now pass rapidly over one period of my history, on which how
gladly would I dwell, could I conjure up your lively powers of
delineation! But the vivid hues which are at your command, and which
alone can give life and animation to the picture, have left no trace
within me; and were I now to endeavour to recall the joys, the griefs,
the pure and enchanting emotions, which once held such powerful
dominion in my breast, it would be like striking a rock which yields no
longer the living spring, and whose spirit is fled for ever. With what
an altered aspect do those bygone days now present themselves to my
gaze!

In this watering-place I acted an heroic character, badly studied; and
being a novice on such a stage, I forgot my part before a pair of
lovely blue eyes.

All possible means were used by the infatuated parents to conclude the
bargain; and deception put an end to these usual artifices. And that is
all--all.

The powerful emotions which once swelled my bosom seem now in the
retrospect to be poor and insipid, nay, even terrible to me.

Alas, Minna! as I wept for thee the day I lost thee, so do I now weep
that I can no longer retrace thine image in my soul.

Am I, then, so far advanced into the vale of years? O fatal effects of
maturity! would that I could feel one throb, one emotion of former days
of enchantment--alas, not one! a solitary being, tossed on the wild
ocean of life--it is long since I drained thine enchanted cup to the
dregs!

But to return to my narrative. I had sent Bendel to the little town
with plenty of money to procure me a suitable habitation. He spent my
gold profusely; and as he expressed himself rather reservedly
concerning his distinguished master (for I did not wish to be named),
the good people began to form rather extraordinary conjectures.

As soon as my house was ready for my reception, Bendel returned to
conduct me to it. We set out on our journey. About a league from the
town, on a sunny plain, we were stopped by a crowd of people, arrayed
in holiday attire for some festival. The carriage stopped. Music,
bells, cannons, were heard; and loud acclamations rang through the air.

[Illustration: She blushingly knelt before me, presenting on a silken
cushion, a wreath.]

Before the carriage now appeared in white dresses a chorus of maidens,
all of extraordinary beauty; but one of them shone in resplendent
loveliness, and eclipsed the rest as the sun eclipses the stars of
night. She advanced from the midst of her companions, and with a lofty
yet winning air, blushingly knelt before me, presenting on a silken
cushion a wreath, composed of laurel-branches, the olive, and the rose,
saying something respecting majesty, love, honour, &c., which I could
not comprehend; but the sweet and silvery magic of her tones
intoxicated my senses and my whole soul: it seemed as if some heavenly
apparition were hovering over me. The chorus now began to sing the
praises of a good sovereign, and the happiness of his subjects. All
this, dear Chamisso, took place in the sun: she was kneeling two steps
from me, and I, without a shadow, could not dart through the air, nor
fall on my knees before the angelic being. O, what would I not now have
given for a shadow! To conceal my shame, agony, and despair, I buried
myself in the recesses of the carriage. Bendel at last thought of an
expedient; he jumped out of the carriage. I called him back, and gave
him out of the casket I had by me a rich diamond coronet which had been
intended for the lovely Fanny.

He stepped forward, and spoke in the name of his master, who, he said,
was overwhelmed by so many demonstrations of respect, which he really
could not accept as an honour--there must be some error; nevertheless
he begged to express his thanks for the good-will of the worthy
townspeople. In the meantime Bendel had taken the wreath from the
cushion, and laid the brilliant crown in its place. He then
respectfully raised the lovely girl from the ground; and at one sign,
the clergy, magistrates, and all the deputations withdrew. The crowd
separated, to allow the horses to pass; and we pursued our way to the
town at full gallop, through arches ornamented with flowers and
branches of laurel. Salvos of artillery again were heard. The carriage
stopped at my gate; I hastened through the crowd which curiosity had
attracted to witness my arrival. Enthusiastic shouts resounded under my
windows, from whence I showered gold amidst the people; and in the
evening the whole town was illuminated. Still all remained a mystery to
me, and I could not imagine for whom I had been taken. I sent Rascal
out to make inquiry; and he soon obtained intelligence that the good
King of Prussia was travelling through the country under the name of
some count; that my _aide-de-camp_ had been recognised, and that he had
divulged the secret; that on acquiring the certainty that I would enter
their town, their joy had known no bounds: however, as they perceived I
was determined on preserving the strictest incognito, they felt how
wrong they had been in too importunately seeking to withdraw the veil.
But I had received them so condescendingly and so graciously, that they
were sure I would forgive them. The whole affair was such capital
amusement to the unprincipled Rascal, that he did his best to confirm
the good people in their belief, while affecting to reprove them. He
gave me a very comical account of the matter; and seeing that I was
amused by it, actually endeavoured to make a merit of his impudence.

Shall I own the truth? My vanity was flattered by having been mistaken
for our revered sovereign. I ordered a banquet to be got ready for the
following evening, under the trees before my house, and invited the
whole town. The mysterious power of my purse, Bendel's exertions, and
Rascal's ready invention, made the shortness of the time seem as
nothing.

It was really astonishing how magnificently and beautifully everything
was arranged in these few hours. Splendour and abundance vied with each
other, and the lights were so carefully arranged that I felt quite
safe: the zeal of my servants met every exigency, and merited all
praise.

Evening drew on, the guests arrived, and were presented to me. The word
_majesty_ was now dropped; but, with the deepest respect and humility,
I was addressed as the _count_. What could I do? I accepted the title;
and from that moment I was known as Count Peter. In the midst of all
this festivity my soul pined for one individual. She came late--she who
was the empress of the scene, and wore the emblem of sovereignty on her
brow.

She modestly accompanied her parents, and seemed unconscious of her
transcendent beauty.

The Ranger of the Forests, his wife, and daughter, were presented to
me. I was at no loss to make myself agreeable to the parents; but
before the daughter I stood like a well-scolded school-boy, incapable
of speaking a single word.

At length I hesitatingly entreated her to honour my banquet by
presiding at it--an office for which her rare endowments pointed her
out as admirably fitted. With a blush and an expressive glance she
entreated to be excused; but in still greater confusion than herself, I
respectfully begged her to accept the homage of the first and most
devoted of her subjects; and one glance of the count was the same as a
command to the guests, who all vied with each other in acting up to the
spirit of the noble host.

In her person, majesty, innocence, and grace, in union with beauty,
presided over this joyous banquet. Minna's happy parents were elated by
the honours conferred upon their child. As for me, I abandoned myself
to all the intoxication of delight: I sent for all the jewels, pearls,
and precious stones still left to me--the produce of my fatal wealth;
and filling two vases, I placed them on the table in the name of the
Queen of the banquet, to be divided among her companions and the
remainder of the ladies.

I ordered gold in the meantime to be showered down without ceasing
among the happy multitude.

Next morning Bendel told me in confidence that the suspicions he had
long entertained of Rascal's honesty were now reduced to a certainty:
he had yesterday embezzled many bags of gold.

"Never mind," said I; "let him enjoy his paltry booty. _I_ like to
spend it--why should not he? Yesterday he, and all the newly-engaged
servants whom you had hired, served me honourably, and cheerfully
assisted me to enjoy the banquet."

No more was said on the subject. Rascal remained at the head of my
domestics. Bendel was my friend and confidant; he had by this time
become accustomed to look upon my wealth as inexhaustible, without
seeking to inquire into its source. He entered into all my schemes, and
effectually assisted me in devising methods of spending my money.

Of the pale, sneaking scoundrel--the unknown--Bendel only knew thus
much, that he alone had power to release me from the curse which
weighed so heavily on me, and yet that I stood in awe of him on whom
all my hopes rested. Besides, I felt convinced that he had the means of
discovering me under any circumstances, while he himself remained
concealed; I therefore abandoned my fruitless inquiries, and patiently
awaited the appointed day.

The magnificence of my banquet, and my deportment on the occasion, had
but strengthened the credulous towns-people in their previous belief.

It appeared, soon after, from accounts in the newspapers, that the
whole history of the King of Prussia's fictitious journey originated in
mere idle report. But a king I was, and a king I must remain, by all
means; and one of the richest and most royal, although people were at a
loss to know where my territories lay.

The world has never had reason to lament the scarcity of monarchs,
particularly in these days; and the good people, who had never yet seen
a king, now fancied me to be first one, and then another, with equal
success; and in the meanwhile I remained as before. Count Peter.

Among the visitors at this watering-place, a merchant made his
appearance, one who had become a bankrupt in order to enrich himself.
He enjoyed the general good opinion; for he projected a shadow of
respectable size, though of somewhat faint hue.

This man wished to shew off in this place by means of his wealth, and
sought to rival me. My purse soon enabled me to leave the poor devil
far behind. To save his credit, he became bankrupt again, and fled
beyond the mountains; and thus I was rid of him. Many a one in this
place was reduced to beggary and ruin through my means.

In the midst of the really princely magnificence and profusion which
carried all before me, my own style of living was very simple and
retired. I had made it a point to observe the strictest precaution;
and, with the exception of Bendel, no one was permitted, on any
pretence whatever, to enter my private apartment. As long as the sun
shone, I remained shut up with him; and the Count was then said to be
deeply occupied in his closet. The numerous couriers, whom I kept in
constant attendance about matters of no importance, were supposed to be
the bearers of my despatches. I only received company in the evening
under the trees of my garden, or in my saloons, after Bendel's
assurance of their being carefully and brilliantly lit up.

My walks, in which the Argus-eyed Bendel was constantly on the watch
for me, extended only to the garden of the forest-ranger, to enjoy the
society of one who was dear to me as my own existence.

Oh, my Chamisso! I trust thou hast not forgotten what love is! I must
here leave much to thine imagination. Minna was in truth an amiable and
excellent maiden: her whole soul was wrapped up in me, and in her lowly
thoughts of herself, she could not imagine how she had deserved a
single thought from me. She returned love for love with all the full
and youthful fervour of an innocent heart; her love was a true woman's
love, with all the devotion and total absence of selfishness which is
found only in woman;--she lived but in me, her whole soul being bound
up in mine, regardless what her own fate might be.

Yet I, alas, during those hours of wretchedness--hours I would even
now gladly recall--how often have I wept on Bendel's bosom, when after
the first mad whirlwind of passion I reflected, with the keenest
self-upbraidings, that I, a shadowless man, had, with cruel
selfishness, practised a wicked deception, and stolen away the pure and
angelic heart of the innocent Minna!

At one moment I resolved to confess all to her; then that I would fly
for ever; then I broke out into a flood of bitter tears, and consulted
Bendel as to the means of meeting her again in the forester's garden.

At times I flattered myself with great hopes from the near approaching
visit of the unknown; then wept again, because I saw clearly on
reflection that they would end in disappointment. I had made a
calculation of the day fixed on by the fearful being for our interview;
for he had said in a year and a day, and I depended on his word.

The parents were worthy old people, devoted to their only child; and
our mutual affection was a circumstance so overwhelming, that they knew
not how to act. They had never dreamed for a moment that the _Count_
could bestow a thought on their daughter; but such was the case--he
loved and was beloved. The pride of the mother might not have led her
to consider such an alliance quite impossible, but so extravagant an
idea had never entered the contemplation of the sounder judgment of the
old man. Both were satisfied of the sincerity of my love, and could but
put up prayers to Heaven for the happiness of their child.

A letter which I received from Minna about that time has just fallen
into my hands. Yes, these are the characters traced by her own hand. I
will transcribe the letter:--

"I am indeed a weak, foolish girl to fancy that the friend I so
tenderly love could give an instant's pain to his poor Minna! Oh no!
thou art so good, so inexpressibly good! But do not misunderstand me. I
will accept no sacrifice at thy hands--none whatever. Oh heavens! I
should hate myself! No; thou hast made me happy--thou hast taught me to
love thee.

"Go, then--let me not forget my destiny--Count Peter belongs not to me,
but to the whole world; and oh! what pride for thy Minna to hear thy
deeds proclaimed, and blessings invoked on thy idolised head! Ah, when
I think of this, I could chide thee that thou shouldst for one instant
forget thy high destiny for the sake of a simple maiden! Go, then;
otherwise the reflection will pierce me. How blest I have been rendered
by thy love! Perhaps, also, I have planted some flowers in the path of
thy life, as I twined them in the wreath which I presented to thee!

"Go, then--fear not to leave me--you are too deeply seated in my
heart--I shall die inexpressibly happy in thy love."

Conceive how these words pierced my soul, Chamisso!

I declared to her that I was not what I seemed--that although a rich, I
was an unspeakably miserable man--that a curse was on me, which must
remain a secret, although the only one between us--yet that I was not
without a hope of its being removed--that this poisoned every hour of
my life--that I should plunge her with me into the abyss--she, the
light and joy, the very soul of my existence. Then she wept, because I
was unhappy. Oh! Minna was all love and tenderness. To save me one tear
she would gladly have sacrificed her life. Yet she was far from
comprehending the full meaning of my words. She still looked upon me as
some proscribed prince or illustrious exile; and her vivid imagination
had invested her lover with every lofty attribute.

One day I said to her, "Minna, the last day in next month will decide
my fate, and perhaps change it for the better; if not, I would sooner
die than render you miserable."

She laid her head on my shoulder, to conceal her tears. "Should thy
fate be changed," she said, "I only wish to know that thou art happy;
if thy condition is an unhappy one, I will share it with thee, and
assist thee to support it."

"Minna, Minna!" I exclaimed, "recall those rash words--those mad
words which have escaped thy lips! Didst thou know the misery and
curse--didst thou know who--what--thy lover----Seest thou not, my
Minna, this convulsive shuddering, which thrills my whole frame, and
that there is a secret in my breast which you cannot penetrate?" She
sank sobbing at my feet, and renewed her vows and entreaties.

Her father now entered, and I declared to him my intention to solicit
the hand of his daughter on the first day of the month after the
ensuing one. I fixed that time, I told him, because circumstances might
probably occur in the interval materially to influence my future
destiny; but my love for his daughter was unchangeable.

The good old man started at hearing such words from the mouth of Count
Peter. He fell upon my neck, and rose again in the utmost confusion for
having forgotten himself. Then he began to doubt, to ponder, and to
scrutinise; and spoke of dowry, security, and future provision for his
beloved child. I thanked him for having reminded me of all this, and
told him it was my wish to remain in a country where I seemed to be
beloved, and to lead a life free from anxiety. I then commissioned him
to purchase the finest estate in the neighbourhood in the name of his
daughter,--for a father was the best person to act for his daughter in
such a case,--and to refer for payment to me. This occasioned him a
good deal of trouble, as a stranger had everywhere anticipated him; but
at last he made a purchase for about 150,000_l_.

I confess this was but an innocent artifice to get rid of him, as I had
frequently done before; for it must be confessed that he was somewhat
tedious. The good mother was rather deaf, and not jealous, like her
husband, of the honour of conversing with the count.

The happy party pressed me to remain with them longer this evening. I
dared not--I had not a moment to lose. I saw the rising moon streaking
the horizon--my hour was come.

[Illustration: Next Evening, I went to the foresters ... She raised her
head and looked at me and started involuntarily.]

Next evening I went again to the forester's garden. I had wrapped
myself closely up in my cloak, slouched my hat over my eyes, and
advanced towards Minna. As she raised her head and looked at me, she
started involuntarily. The apparition of that dreadful night in
which I had been seen without a shadow was now standing distinctly
before me--it was she herself. Had she recognised me? She was silent
and thoughtful. I felt an oppressive load at my heart. I rose from my
seat. She laid her head on my shoulder, still silent, and in tears. I
went away.

I now found her frequently weeping. I became more and more melancholy.
Her parents were beyond expression happy. The eventful day approached,
threatening and heavy, like a thunder-cloud. The evening preceding
arrived. I could scarcely breathe. I had carefully filled a large chest
with gold, and sat down to await the appointed time--the twelfth
hour--it struck.

Now I remained with my eyes fixed on the hand of the clock, counting
the seconds--the minutes--which struck me to the heart like daggers. I
started at every sound--at last daylight appeared. The leaden hours
passed on--morning--evening--night came. Hope was fast fading away
as the hand advanced. It struck eleven--no one appeared--the last
minutes--the first and last stroke of the twelfth hour died away. I
sank back in my bed in an agony of weeping. In the morning I should,
shadowless as I was, claim the hand of my beloved Minna. A heavy sleep
towards daylight closed my eyes.

It was yet early, when I was suddenly awoke by voices in hot dispute in
my ante-chamber. I listened. Bendel was forbidding Rascal to enter my
room, who swore he would receive no orders from his equals, and
insisted on forcing his way. The faithful Bendel reminded him that if
such words reached his master's ears, he would turn him out of an
excellent place. Rascal threatened to strike him, if he persisted in
refusing his entrance.

By this time, having half dressed myself, I angrily threw open the
door; and addressing myself to Rascal, inquired what he meant by such
disgraceful conduct. He drew back a couple of steps, and coolly
answered, "Count Peter, may I beg most respectfully that you will
favour me with a sight of your shadow? The sun is now shining brightly
in the court below."

I stood as if struck by a thunderbolt, and for some time was unable to
speak. At last, I asked him how a servant could dare to behave so
towards his master. He interrupted me by saying, quite coolly, "A
servant may be a very honourable man, and unwilling to serve a
shadowless master--I request my dismissal."

I felt that I must adopt a softer tone, and replied, "But, Rascal, my
good fellow, who can have put such strange ideas into your head? How
can you imagine--"

He again interrupted me in the same tone--"People say you have no
shadow. In short, let me see your shadow, or give me my dismissal."

Bendel, pale and trembling, but more collected than myself, made a sign
to me. I had recourse to the all-powerful influence of gold. But even
gold had lost its power--Rascal threw it at my feet: "From a shadowless
man," he said, "I will take nothing."

Turning his back upon me, and putting on his hat, he then slowly left
the room, whistling a tune. I stood, with Bendel, as if petrified,
gazing after him.

With a deep sigh and a heavy heart, I now prepared to keep my
engagement, and to appear in the forester's garden, like a criminal
before his judge. I entered by the shady arbour, which had received the
name of Count Peter's arbour, where we had appointed to meet. The
mother advanced with a cheerful air; Minna sat fair and beautiful as
the early snow of autumn reposing on the departing flowers, soon to be
dissolved and lost in the cold stream.

The ranger, with a written paper in his hand, was walking up and down
in an agitated manner, and struggling to suppress his feelings--his
usually unmoved countenance being one moment flushed, and the next
perfectly pale. He came forward as I entered, and, in a faltering
voice, requested a private conversation with me. The path by which he
requested me to follow him led to an open spot in the garden, where the
sun was shining. I sat down. A long silence ensued, which even the good
woman herself did not venture to break. The ranger, in an agitated
manner, paced up and down with unequal steps. At last he stood still;
and glancing over the paper he held in his hand, he said, addressing me
with a penetrating look, "Count Peter, do you know one Peter
Schlemihl?" I was silent.

"A man," he continued, "of excellent character and extraordinary
endowments."

He paused for an answer. "And supposing I myself were that very man?"

"You!" he exclaimed, passionately; "he has lost his shadow!"

"Oh, my suspicion is true!" cried Minna; "I have long known it--he has
no shadow!" And she threw herself into her mother's arms, who,
convulsively clasping her to her bosom, reproached her for having so
long, to her hurt, kept such a secret. But, like the fabled Arethusa,
her tears, as from a fountain, flowed more abundantly, and her sobs
increased at my reproach.

"And so," said the ranger fiercely, "you have not scrupled, with
unparalleled shamelessness, to deceive both her and me; and you
pretended to love her, forsooth!--her whom you have reduced to the
state in which you now see her. See how she weeps!--Oh, shocking,
shocking!"

By this time I had lost all presence of mind; and I answered,
confusedly, "After all, it is but a shadow, a mere shadow, which a man
can do very well without; and really it is not worth the while to make
all this noise about such a trifle." Feeling the groundlessness of what
I was saying, I ceased; and no one condescended to reply. At last I
added, "What is lost to-day may be found to-morrow."

"Be pleased, sir," continued the ranger, in great wrath--"be pleased to
explain how you have lost your shadow."

Here again an excuse was ready: "A boor of a fellow," said I, "one day
trod so rudely on my shadow that he tore a large hole in it. I sent it
to be repaired--for gold can do wonders--and yesterday I expected it
home again."

"Very well," answered the ranger. "You are a suitor for my daughter's
hand, and so are others. As a father, I am bound to provide for her. I
will give you three days to seek your shadow. Return to me in the
course of that time with a well-fitted shadow, and you shall receive a
hearty welcome; otherwise, on the fourth day--remember, on the fourth
day--my daughter becomes the wife of another."

I now attempted to say one word to Minna; but, sobbing more violently,
she clung still closer to her mother, who made a sign for me to
withdraw. I obeyed; and now the world seemed shut out from me for ever.

Having escaped from the affectionate care of Bendel, I now wandered
wildly through the neighbouring woods and meadows. Drops of anguish
fell from my brow, deep groans burst from my bosom--frenzied despair
raged within me.

I knew not how long this had lasted, when I felt myself seized by
the sleeve on a sunny heath. I stopped, and looking up, beheld the
grey-coated man, who appeared to have run himself out of breath in
pursuing me.

"I had," he began, immediately, "appointed this day; but your
impatience anticipated it. All, however, may yet be right. Take my
advice,--redeem your shadow, which is at your command, and return
immediately to the ranger's garden, where you will be well received,
and all the past will seem a mere joke. As for Rascal--who has betrayed
you in order to pay his addresses to Minna--leave him to me; he is just
a fit subject for me."

I stood like one in a dream. "This day?" I considered again. He was
right--I had made a mistake of a day. I felt in my bosom for the purse.
He perceived my intention, and drew back.

"No, Count Peter; the purse is in good hands--pray keep it."

I gazed at him with looks of astonishment and inquiry.

"I only beg a trifle as a token of remembrance. Be so good as to sign
this memorandum." On the parchment, which he held out to me, were these
words:--"By virtue of this present, to which I have appended my
signature, I hereby bequeath my soul to the holder, after its natural
separation from my body."

I gazed in mute astonishment alternately at the paper and the grey
unknown. In the meantime he had dipped a new pen in a drop of blood
which was issuing from a scratch in my hand just made by a thorn. He
presented it to me.

"Who are you?" at last I exclaimed.

"What can it signify?" he answered; "do you not perceive who I am? A
poor devil--a sort of scholar and philosopher, who obtains but poor
thanks from his friends for his admirable arts, and whose only
amusement on earth consists of his small experiments. But just sign
this; to the right, exactly underneath--Peter Schlemihl."

I shook my head, and replied, "Excuse me, sir; I cannot sign that."

"Cannot!" he exclaimed; "and why not?"

"Because it appears to me a hazardous thing to exchange my soul for my
shadow."

"Hazardous!" he exclaimed, bursting into a loud laugh. "And, pray, may
I be allowed to inquire what sort of a thing your soul is?--have you
ever seen it?--and what do you mean to do with it after your death? You
ought to think yourself fortunate in meeting with a customer who during
your life, in exchange for this infinitely-minute quantity, this
galvanic principle, this polarised agency, or whatever other foolish
name you may give it, is willing to bestow on you something
substantial--in a word, your own identical shadow, by virtue of which
you will obtain your beloved Minna, and arrive at the accomplishment of
all your wishes; or do you prefer giving up the poor young girl to the
power of that contemptible scoundrel Rascal? Nay, you shall behold her
with your own eyes. Come here; I will lend you an invisible cap (he
drew something out of his pocket), and we will enter the ranger's
garden unseen."

I must confess that I felt excessively ashamed to be thus laughed at by
the grey stranger. I detested him from the very bottom of my soul; and
I really believe this personal antipathy, more than principle or
previously formed opinion, restrained me from purchasing my shadow,
much as I stood in need of it, at such an expense. Besides, the thought
was insupportable, of making this proposed visit in his society. To
behold this hateful sneak, this mocking fiend, place himself between me
and my beloved, between our torn and bleeding hearts, was too revolting
an idea to be entertained for a moment.

I considered the past as irrevocable, my own misery as inevitable; and
turning to the grey man, I said, "I have exchanged my shadow for this
very extraordinary purse, and I have sufficiently repented it. For
Heaven's sake, let the transaction be declared null and void!"

He shook his head; and his countenance assumed an expression of the
most sinister cast.

I continued, "I will make no exchange whatever, even for the sake of my
shadow, nor will I sign the paper. It follows, also, that the incognito
visit you propose to me would afford you far more entertainment than it
could possibly give me. Accept my excuses, therefore; and, since it
must be so, let us part."

"I am sorry, Mr. Schlemihl, that you thus obstinately persist in
rejecting my friendly offer. Perhaps, another time, I may be more
fortunate. Farewell! May we shortly meet again! But, allow me to shew
you that I do not undervalue my purchase, but preserve it carefully."

So saying, he drew my shadow out of his pocket; and shaking it cleverly
out of its folds, he stretched it out at his feet in the sun--so that
he stood between two obedient shadows, his own and mine, which was
compelled to follow and comply with his every movement.

On again beholding my poor shadow after so long a separation, and
seeing it degraded to so vile a bondage at the very time that I was so
unspeakably in want of it, my heart was ready to burst; and I wept
bitterly. The detested wretch stood exulting over his prey, and
unblushingly renewed his proposal.

"One stroke of the pen, and the unhappy Minna is rescued from the
clutches of the villain Rascal, and transferred to the arms of the
high-born Count Peter--merely a stroke of your pen!"

My tears broke out with renewed violence; but I turned away from him,
and made a sign for him to be gone.

Bendel, whose deep solicitude had induced him to come in search of me,
arrived at this very moment. The good and faithful creature, on seeing
me weeping, and that a shadow (evidently mine) was in the power of the
mysterious unknown, determined to rescue it by force, should that be
necessary; and disdaining to use any finesse, he desired him directly,
and without any disputing, to restore my property. Instead of a reply,
the grey man turned his back on the worthy fellow, and was making off.
But Bendel raised his buckthorn stick; and following close upon him,
after repeated commands, but in vain, to restore the shadow, he made
him feel the whole force of his powerful arm. The grey man, as if
accustomed to such treatment, held down his head, slouched his
shoulders, and, with soft and noiseless steps, pursued his way over the
heath, carrying with him my shadow, and also my faithful servant. For a
long time I heard hollow sounds ringing through the waste, until at
last they died away in the distance, and I was again left to solitude
and misery.

                           *   *   *   *   *

[Illustration: "Alone on the wild Heath I disburdened my heart of an
insupportable load, by giving free vent to my tears."]

Alone on the wild heath, I disburdened my heart of an insupportable
load, by giving free vent to my tears. But I saw no bounds, no relief,
to my surpassing wretchedness; and I drank in the fresh poison which
the mysterious stranger had poured into my wounds with a furious
avidity. As I retraced in my mind the loved image of my Minna, and
depicted her sweet countenance all pale and in tears, such as I had
beheld her in my late disgrace, the bold and sarcastic visage of Rascal
would ever and anon thrust itself between us. I hid my face, and fled
rapidly over the plains; but the horrible vision unrelentingly pursued
me, till at last I sank breathless on the ground, and bedewed it with a
fresh torrent of tears--and all this for a shadow!--a shadow which one
stroke of the pen would repurchase. I pondered on the singular
proposal, and on my hesitation to comply with it. My mind was
confused--I had lost the power of judging or comprehending. The day was
waning apace. I satisfied the cravings of hunger with a few wild
fruits, and quenched my thirst at a neighbouring stream. Night came on;
I threw myself down under a tree, and was awoke by the damp morning air
from an uneasy sleep, in which I had fancied myself struggling in the
agonies of death. Bendel had certainly lost all trace of me, and I was
glad of it. I did not wish to return among my fellow-creatures--I
shunned them as the hunted deer flies before its pursuers.

Thus I passed three melancholy days.

I found myself on the morning of the fourth on a sandy plain, basking
in the rays of the sun, and sitting on a fragment of rock; for it was
sweet to enjoy the genial warmth, of which I had so long been deprived.
Despair still preyed on my heart. Suddenly a slight sound startled me;
I looked round, prepared to fly, but saw no one. On the sunlit sand
before me flitted the shadow of a man not unlike my own; and wandering
about alone, it seemed to have lost its master. This sight powerfully
excited me.

"Shadow!" thought I, "art thou in search of thy master? in me thou
shalt find him." And I sprang forward to seize it, fancying that could
I succeed in treading so exactly in its traces as to step in its
footmarks, it would attach itself to me, and in time become accustomed
to me, and follow all my movements.

The shadow, as I moved, took to flight, and I commenced a hot chase
after the airy fugitive, solely excited by the hope of being delivered
from my present dreadful situation; the bare idea inspired me with
fresh strength and vigour.

The shadow now fled towards a distant wood, among whose shades I must
necessarily have lost it. Seeing this, my heart beat wild with fright,
my ardour increased, and lent wings to my speed. I was evidently
gaining on the shadow--I came nearer and nearer--I was within reach of
it, when it suddenly stopped and turned towards me. Like a lion darting
on its prey, I made a powerful spring and fell unexpectedly upon a hard
substance. Then followed, from an invisible hand, the most terrible
blows in the ribs that any one ever received. The effect of my terror
made me endeavour convulsively to strike and grasp at the unseen object
before me. The rapidity of my motions brought me to the ground, where I
lay stretched out, with a man under me, whom I held tight, and who now
became visible.

The whole affair was now explained. The man had undoubtedly possessed
the bird's nest which communicates its charm of invisibility to its
possessor, though not equally so to his shadow; and this nest he had
now thrown away. I looked all round, and soon discovered the shadow of
this invisible nest. I sprang towards it, and was fortunate enough to
seize the precious booty, and immediately became invisible and
shadowless.

The moment the man regained his feet he looked all round, over the wide
sunny plain, to discover his fortunate vanquisher, but could see
neither him nor his shadow, the latter seeming particularly to be the
object of his search: for previous to our encounter he had not had
leisure to observe that I was shadowless, and he could not be aware of
it. Becoming convinced that all traces of me were lost, he began to
tear his hair, and give himself up to all the frenzy of despair. In the
meantime, this newly acquired treasure communicated to me both the
ability and the desire to mix again among mankind.

I was at no loss for a pretext to vindicate this unjust robbery--or,
rather, so deadened had I become, I felt no need of a pretext; and in
order to dissipate every idea of the kind, I hastened on, regardless of
the unhappy man, whose fearful lamentations long resounded in my ears.
Such, at the time, were my impressions of all the circumstances of this
affair.

I now ardently desired to return to the ranger's garden, in order to
ascertain in person the truth of the information communicated by the
odious unknown; but I knew not where I was, until, ascending an
eminence to take a survey of the surrounding country, I perceived, from
its summit, the little town and the gardens almost at my feet. My heart
beat violently, and tears of a nature very different from those I had
lately shed filled my eyes. I should, then, once more behold her!

Anxiety now hastened my steps. Unseen I met some peasants coming from
the town; they were talking of me, of Rascal, and of the ranger. I
would not stay to listen to their conversation, but proceeded on. My
bosom thrilled with expectation as I entered the garden. At this moment
I heard something like a hollow laugh, which caused me involuntarily to
shudder. I cast a rapid glance around, but could see no one. I passed
on; presently I fancied I heard the sound of footsteps close to me, but
no one was within sight. My ears must have deceived me.

It was early; no one was in Count Peter's bower--the gardens were
deserted. I traversed all the well-known paths, and penetrated even to
the dwelling-house itself. The same rustling sound became now more and
more audible. With anguished feelings I sat down on a seat placed in
the sunny space before the door, and actually felt some invisible fiend
take a place by me, and heard him utter a sarcastic laugh. The key was
turned in the door, which was opened. The forest-master appeared with a
paper in his hand.

Suddenly my head was, as it were, enveloped in a mist. I looked up,
and, oh horror! the grey-coated man was at my side, peering in my face
with a satanic grin. He had extended the mist-cap[1] he wore over my
head. His shadow and my own were lying together at his feet, in perfect
amity. He kept twirling in his hand the well-known parchment, with an
air of indifference; and while the ranger, absorbed in thought, and
intent upon his paper, paced up and down the arbour, my tormentor
confidentially leaned towards me, and whispered, "So, Mr. Schlemihl,
you have at length accepted my invitation; and here we sit, two heads
under one hood, as the saying is. Well, well, all in good time. But now
you can return me my bird's nest--you have no further occasion for it;
and I am sure you are too honourable a man to withhold it from me. No
need of thanks, I assure you; I had infinite pleasure in lending it to
you."

He took it out of my unresisting hand, put it into his pocket, and then
broke into so loud a laugh at my expense, that the forest-master turned
round, startled at the sound. I was petrified.

"You must acknowledge," he continued, "that in our position a hood is
much more convenient. It serves to conceal not only a man, but his
shadow, or as many shadows as he chooses to carry. I, for instance,
to-day bring two, you perceive." He laughed again. "Take notice,
Schlemihl, that what a man refuses to do with a good grace in the first
instance, he is always in the end compelled to do. I am still of
opinion that you ought to redeem your shadow and claim your bride (for
it is yet time); and as to Rascal, he shall dangle at a rope's end--no
difficult matter, so long as we can find a bit. As a mark of
friendship, I will give you my cap into the bargain."

The mother now came out, and the following conversation took place:
"What is Minna doing?"

"She is weeping."

"Silly child! what good can that do?"

"None, certainly; but it is so soon to bestow her hand on another. O
husband, you are too harsh to your poor child."

"No, wife; you view things in a wrong light. When she finds herself the
wife of a wealthy and honourable man, her tears will soon cease; she
will waken out of a dream, as it were, happy, and grateful to Heaven
and to her parents, as you will see."

"Heaven grant it may be so!" replied the wife.

"She has, indeed, now considerable property; but after the noise
occasioned by her unlucky affair with that adventurer, do you imagine
that she is likely soon to meet with so advantageous a match as Mr.
Rascal? Do you know the extent of Mr. Rascal's influence and wealth?
Why, he has purchased with ready money, in this country, six millions
of landed property, free from all emcumbrances. I have had all the
documents in my hands. It was he who outbid me everywhere when I was
about to make a desirable purchase; and, besides, he has bills on Mr.
Thomas John's house to the amount of three millions and a half."

"He must have been a prodigious thief!"

"How foolishly you talk! he wisely saved where others squandered their
property."

"A mere livery-servant!"

"Nonsense! he has at all events an unexceptionable shadow."

"True, but----"

While this conversation was passing, the grey-coated man looked at me
with a satirical smile.

The door opened, and Minna entered, leaning on the arm of her female
attendant, silent tears flowing down her fair but pallid face. She
seated herself in the chair which had been placed for her under the
lime-trees, and her father took a stool by her side. He gently raised
her hand; and as her tears flowed afresh, he addressed her in the most
affectionate manner.

"My own dear, good child--my Minna--will act reasonably, and not
afflict her poor old father, who only wishes to make her happy. My
dearest child, this blow has shaken you--dreadfully, I know it; but you
have been saved, as by a miracle, from a miserable fate, my Minna. You
loved the unworthy villain most tenderly, before his treachery was
discovered: I feel all this, Minna; and far be it from me to reproach
you for it--in fact, I myself loved him so long as I considered him to
be a person of rank: you now see yourself how differently it has turned
out. Every dog has a shadow; and the idea of my child having been on
the eve of uniting herself to a man who----but I am sure you will think
no more of him. A suitor has just appeared for you in the person of a
man who does not fear the sun--an honourable man--no prince indeed, but
a man worth ten millions of golden ducats sterling--a sum nearly ten
times larger than your fortune consists of--a man, too, who will make
my dear child happy--nay, do not oppose me--be my own good, dutiful
child--allow your loving father to provide for you, and to dry up these
tears. Promise to bestow your hand on Mr. Rascal. Speak my child: will
you not?"

Minna could scarcely summon strength to reply that she had now no
longer any hopes or desires on earth, and that she was entirely at her
father's disposal. Rascal was therefore immediately sent for, and
entered the room with his usual forwardness; but Minna in the meantime
had swooned away.

My detested companion looked at me indignantly, and whispered, "Can you
endure this? Have you no blood in your veins?" He instantly pricked my
finger, which bled. "Yes, positively," he exclaimed, "you have some
blood left!--come, sign." The parchment and pen were in my hand!----

FOOTNOTE TO CHAPTER III:

[Footnote 1: The Nebelkappe, or Tarnkappe (Germ.), which imparts
invisibility to its owner.]

[Illustration: The forest of ancient firs.]

                               CHAPTER IV

I submit myself to thy judgment, my dear Chamisso; I do not seek to bias
it. I have long been a rigid censor of myself, and nourished at my
heart the worm of remorse. This critical moment of my life is ever
present to my soul, and I dare only cast a hesitating glance at it,
with a deep sense of humiliation and grief. Ah, my dear friend, he who
once permits himself thoughtlessly to deviate but one step from the
right road, will imperceptibly find himself involved in various
intricate paths, all leading him farther and farther astray. In vain he
beholds the guiding-stars of Heaven shining before him. No choice is
left him--he must descend the precipice, and offer himself up a
sacrifice to his fate. After the false step which I had rashly made,
and which entailed a curse upon me, I had, in the wantonness of
passion, entangled one in my fate who had staked all her happiness upon
me. What was left for me to do in a case where I had brought another
into misery, but to make a desperate leap in the dark to save her?--the
last, the only means of rescue presented itself. Think not so meanly of
me, Chamisso, as to imagine that I would have shrunk from any sacrifice
on my part. In such a case it would have been but a poor ransom. No,
Chamisso; but my whole soul was filled with unconquerable hatred to the
cringing knave and his crooked ways. I might be doing him injustice;
but I shuddered at the bare idea of entering into any fresh compact
with him. But here a circumstance took place which entirely changed the
face of things----

I know not whether to ascribe it to excitement of mind, exhaustion of
physical strength (for during the last few days I had scarcely tasted
anything), or the antipathy I felt to the society of my fiendish
companion; but just as I was about to sign the fatal paper, I fell into
a deep swoon, and remained for a long time as if dead. The first sounds
which greeted my ear on recovering my consciousness were those of
cursing and imprecation; I opened my eyes--it was dusk; my hateful
companion was overwhelming me with reproaches. "Is not this behaving
like an old woman? Come, rise up, and finish quickly what you were
going to do; or perhaps you have changed your determination, and prefer
to lie groaning there?"

I raised myself with difficulty from the ground, and gazed around me,
without speaking a word. It was late in the evening, and I heard
strains of festive music proceeding from the ranger's brilliantly
illuminated house; groups of company were lounging about the gardens;
two persons approached, and seating themselves on the bench I had
lately occupied, began to converse on the subject of the marriage which
had taken place that morning between the wealthy Mr. Rascal and Minna.
All was then over.

I tore off the cap which rendered me invisible; and my companion having
disappeared, I plunged in silence into the thickest gloom of the grove,
rapidly passed Count Peter's bower towards the entrance-gate; but my
tormentor still haunted me, and loaded me with reproaches. "And is this
all the gratitude I am to expect from you, Mr. Schlemihl--you, whom I
have been watching all the weary day, until you should recover from
your nervous attack? What a fool's part I have been enacting! It is of
no use flying from me, Mr. Perverse--we are inseparable--you have my
gold, I have your shadow; this exchange deprives us both of peace. Did
you ever hear of a man's shadow leaving him?--yours follows me until
you receive it again into favour, and thus free me from it. Disgust and
weariness sooner or later will compel you to do what you should have
done gladly at first. In vain you strive with fate!"

He continued unceasingly in the same tone, uttering constant sarcasms
about the gold and the shadow, till I was completely bewildered. To fly
from him was impossible. I had pursued my way through the empty streets
towards my own house, which I could scarcely recognise--the windows
were broken to pieces, no light was visible, the doors were shut, and
the bustle of domestics had ceased. My companion burst into a loud
laugh. "Yes, yes," said he, "you see the state of things: however, you
will find your friend Bendel at home; he was sent back the other day so
fatigued, that I assure you he has never left the house since. He will
have a fine story to tell! So I wish you a very good night--may we
shortly meet again!"

I had repeatedly rung the bell: at last a light appeared and Bendel
inquired from within who was there. The poor fellow could scarcely
contain himself at the sound of my voice. The door flew open, and we
were locked in each other's arms. I found him sadly changed; he was
looking ill and feeble. I, too, was altered; my hair had become quite
grey. He conducted me through the desolate apartments to an inner room,
which had escaped the general wreck. After partaking of some
refreshment, we seated ourselves; and, with fresh lamentations, he
began to tell me that the grey withered old man whom he had met with my
shadow had insensibly led him such a zig-zag race, that he lost all
traces of me, and at last sank down exhausted with fatigue; that,
unable to find me, he had returned home, when, shortly after, the mob,
at Rascal's instigation, assembled violently before the house, broke
the windows, and by all sorts of excesses completely satiated their
fury.

Thus had they treated their benefactor. My servants had fled in all
directions. The police had banished me from the town as a suspicious
character, and granted me an interval of twenty-four hours to leave the
territory. Bendel added many particulars as to the information I had
already obtained respecting Rascal's wealth and marriage. This villain,
it seems--who was the author of all the measures taken against
me--became possessed of my secret nearly from the beginning, and,
tempted by the love of money, had supplied himself with a key to my
chest, and from that time had been laying the foundation of his present
wealth. Bendel related all this with many tears, and wept for joy that
I was once more safely restored to him, after all his fears and
anxieties for me. In me, however, such a state of things only awoke
despair.

My dreadful fate now stared me in the face in all its gigantic and
unchangeable horror. The source of tears was exhausted within me; no
groans escaped my breast; but with cool indifference I bared my
unprotected head to the blast.

"Bendel," said I, "you know my fate; this heavy visitation is a
punishment for my early sins: but as for thee, my innocent friend, I
can no longer permit thee to share my destiny. I will depart this very
night--saddle me a horse--I will set out alone. Remain here, Bendel--I
insist upon it: there must be some chests of gold still left in the
house--take them, they are thine. I shall be a restless and solitary
wanderer on the face of the earth; but should better days arise, and
fortune once more smile propitiously on me, then I will not forget thy
steady fidelity; for, in hours of deep distress, thy faithful bosom has
been the depository of my sorrows."

With a bursting heart, the worthy Bendel prepared to obey this last
command of his master; for I was deaf to all his arguments and blind to
his tears. My horse was brought--I pressed my weeping friend to my
bosom--threw myself into the saddle, and, under the friendly shades of
night, quitted this sepulchre of my existence, indifferent which road
my horse should take; for now on this side the grave I had neither
wishes, hopes, or fears.

                           *   *   *   *   *

After a short time I was joined by a traveller on foot, who, after
walking for a while by the side of my horse, observed, that as we both
seemed to be travelling the same road, he should beg my permission to
lay his cloak on the horse's back behind me, to which I silently
assented. He thanked me with easy politeness for this trifling favour,
praised my horse, and then took occasion to extol the happiness and the
power of the rich, and fell, I scarcely know how, into a sort of
conversation with himself, in which I merely acted the part of
listener. He unfolded his views of human life and of the world, and
touching on metaphysics, demanded an answer from that cloudy science to
the question of questions--the answer that should solve all mysteries.
He deduced one problem from another in a very lucid manner, and then
proceeded to their solution.

You may remember, my dear friend, that after having run through the
school-philosophy, I became sensible of my unfitness for metaphysical
speculations, and therefore totally abstained from engaging in them.
Since, then, I have acquiesced in some things, and abandoned all hope
of comprehending others; trusting, as you advised me, to my own plain
sense and the voice of conscience to direct and, if possible, maintain
me in the right path.

Now this skilful rhetorician seemed to me to expend great skill in
rearing a firmly-constructed edifice, towering aloft on its own
self-supported basis, but resting on, and upheld by, some internal
principle of necessity. I regretted in it the total absence of what I
desired to find; and thus it seemed a mere work of art, serving only by
its elegance and exquisite finish to captivate the eye. Nevertheless I
listened with pleasure to this eloquently gifted man, who diverted my
attention from my own sorrows to the speaker; and he would have secured
my entire acquiescence, if he had appealed to my heart as well as to my
judgment.

In the meantime the hours had passed away, and morning had already
dawned imperceptibly in the horizon; looking up, I shuddered as I
beheld in the east all those splendid hues that announce the rising
sun. At this hour, when all natural shadows are seen in their full
proportions, not a fence or a shelter of any kind could I descry in
this open country, and I was not alone! I cast a glance at my
companion, and shuddered again--it was the man in the grey coat
himself! He laughed at my surprise, and said, without giving me time to
speak: "You see, according to the fashion of this world, mutual
convenience binds us together for a time: there is plenty of time to
think of parting. The road here along the mountain, which perhaps has
escaped your notice, is the only one that you can prudently take; into
the valley you dare not descend--the path over the mountain would but
re-conduct you to the town which you have left--my road, too, lies this
way. I perceive you change colour at the rising sun--I have no
objections to let you have the loan of your shadow during our journey;
and in return you may not be indisposed to tolerate my society. You
have now no Bendel; but I will act for him. I regret that you are not
over-fond of me; but that need not prevent you from accepting my poor
services. The devil is not so black as he is painted. Yesterday you
provoked me, I own; but now that is all forgotten, and you must confess
I have this day succeeded in beguiling the wearisomeness of your
journey. Come, take your shadow, and make trial of it."

The sun had risen, and we were meeting with passengers; so I
reluctantly consented. With a smile, he immediately let my shadow glide
down to the ground; and I beheld it take its place by that of my horse,
and gaily trot along with me. My feelings were anything but pleasant. I
rode through groups of country-people, who respectfully made way for
the well-mounted stranger.

Thus I proceeded, occasionally stealing a sidelong glance, with a
beating heart, from my horse, at the shadow once my own, but now, alas,
accepted as a loan from a stranger, or rather a fiend.

He moved on carelessly at my side, whistling a song. He being on foot,
and I on horseback, the temptation to hazard a silly project occurred
to me; so, suddenly turning my bridle, I set spurs to my horse, and at
full gallop struck into a by-path; but my shadow, on the sudden
movement of my horse, glided away, and stood on the road, quietly
awaiting the approach of its legal owner. I was obliged to return
abashed towards the grey man; but he very coolly finished his song, and
with a laugh set my shadow to rights again, reminding me that it was at
my option to have it irrevocably fixed to me, by purchasing it on just
and equitable terms: "I hold you," said he, "by the shadow; and you
seek in vain to get rid of me. A rich man, like you, requires a shadow,
unquestionably; and you are to blame for not having seen this sooner."

I now continued my journey on the same road; every convenience and even
luxury of life was mine; I moved about in peace and freedom, for I
possessed a shadow, though a borrowed one; and all the respect due to
wealth was paid to me. But a deadly disease preyed on my heart. My
extraordinary companion, who gave himself out to be the humble
attendant of the richest individual in the world, was remarkable for
his dexterity; in short, his singular address and promptitude admirably
fitted him to be the very _beau ideal_ of a rich man's lacquey. But he
never stirred from my side, and tormented me with constant assurances
that a day would most certainly come, when, if it were only to get rid
of him, I should gladly comply with his terms, and redeem my shadow.
Thus he became as irksome as he was hateful to me. I really stood in
awe of him--I had placed myself in his power. Since he had effected my
return to the pleasures of the world, which I had resolved to shun, he
had the perfect mastery of me. His eloquence was irresistible, and at
times I almost thought he was in the right. A shadow is indeed
necessary to a man of fortune; and if I chose to maintain the position
in which he had placed me, there was only one means of doing so. But on
one point I was immovable: since I had sacrificed my love for Minna,
and thereby blighted the happiness of my whole life, I would not now,
for all the shadows in the universe, be induced to sign away my soul to
this being--I knew not how it might end.

One day we were sitting by the entrance of a cavern, much visited by
strangers, who ascended the mountain: the rushing noise of a
subterranean torrent resounded from the fathomless abyss, the depths of
which exceeded all calculation. He was, according to his favourite
custom, employing all the powers of his lavish fancy, and all the charm
of the most brilliant colouring, to depict to me what I might effect in
the world by virtue of my purse, when once I had recovered my shadow.
With my elbows resting on my knees, I kept my face concealed in my
hands, and listened to the false fiend, my heart torn between the
temptation and my determined opposition to it. Such indecision I could
no longer endure, and resolved on one decisive effort.

"You seem to forget," said I, "that I tolerate your presence only on
certain conditions, and that I am to retain perfect freedom of action."

"You have but to command, I depart," was all his reply.

The threat was familiar to me; I was silent. He then began to fold up
my shadow. I turned pale, but allowed him to continue. A long silence
ensued, which he was the first to break.

"You cannot endure me, Mr. Schlemihl--you hate me--I am aware of
it--but why?--is it, perhaps, because you attacked me on the open
plain, in order to rob me of my invisible bird's nest? or is it because
you thievishly endeavoured to seduce away the shadow with which I had
entrusted you--my own property--confiding implicitly in your honour? I,
for my part, have no dislike to you. It is perfectly natural that you
should avail yourself of every means, presented either by cunning, or
force, to promote your own interests. That your principles also should
be of the strictest sort, and your intentions of the most honourable
description,--these are fancies with which I have nothing to do; I do
not pretend to such strictness myself. Each of us is free, I to act,
and you to think, as seems best. Did I ever seize you by the throat, to
tear out of your body that valuable soul I so ardently wish to possess?
Did I ever set my servant to attack you, to get back my purse, or
attempt to run off with it from you?"

I had not a word to reply.

"Well, well," he exclaimed, "you detest me, and I know it; but I bear
you no malice on that account. We must part--that is clear; also I must
say that you begin to be very tiresome to me. Once more let me advise
you to free yourself entirely from my troublesome presence, by the
purchase of your shadow."

I held out the purse to him.

"No, Mr. Schlemihl; not at that price."

With a deep sigh, I said, "Be it so, then; let us part, I entreat;
cross my path no more. There is surely room enough in the world for us
both."

Laughing, he replied, "I go; but just allow me to inform you how you
may at any time recall me whenever you have a mind to see your most
humble servant: you have only to shake your purse, the sound of the
gold will bring me to you in an instant. In this world every one
consults his own advantage; but you see I have thought of yours, and
clearly confer upon you a new power. Oh this purse! it would still
prove a powerful bond between us, had the moth begun to devour your
shadow.--But enough: you hold me by my gold, and may command your
servant at any distance. You know that I can be very serviceable to my
friends; and that the rich are my peculiar care--this you have
observed. As to your shadow, allow me to say, you can only redeem it on
one condition."

Recollections of former days came over me; and I hastily asked him if
he had obtained Mr. Thomas John's signature.

He smiled, and said, "It was by no means necessary from so excellent a
friend."

"Where is he? for God's sake tell me: I insist upon knowing."

With some hesitation, he put his hand into his pocket, and drew out the
altered and pallid form of Mr. John by the hair of his head, whose
livid lips uttered the awful words, "_Justo judicio Dei judicatus sum;
justo judicio Dei condemnatus sum_"--"I am judged and condemned by the
just judgment of God."

I was horrorstruck; and instantly throwing the jingling purse into the
abyss, I exclaimed, "Wretch! in the name of Heaven, I conjure you to be
gone!--away from my sight!--never appear before me again!" With a dark
expression on his countenance, he arose, and immediately vanished
behind the huge rocks which surrounded the place.

[Illustration: He put his hand in his pocket and drew out the altered
and pallid form of Mr. John.]

                               CHAPTER V

I was now left equally without gold and without shadow; but a heavy
load was taken from my breast, and I felt cheerful. Had not my Minna
been irrecoverably lost to me, or even had I been perfectly free from
self-reproach on her account, I felt that happiness might yet have been
mine. At present I was lost in doubt as to my future course. I examined
my pockets, and found I had a few gold pieces still left, which I
counted with feelings of great satisfaction. I had left my horse at the
inn, and was ashamed to return, or at all events I must wait till the
sun had set, which at present was high in the heavens. I laid myself
down under a shady tree, and fell into a peaceful sleep.

Lovely forms floated in airy measures before me, and filled up my
delightful dreams. Minna, with a garland of flowers entwined in her
hair, was bending over me with a smile of good-will; also the worthy
Bendel was crowned with flowers, and hastened to meet me with friendly
greetings. Many other forms seemed to rise up confusedly in the
distance: thyself among the number, Chamisso. Perfect radiance beamed
around them, but none had a shadow; and what was more surprising, there
was no appearance of unhappiness on this account. Nothing was to be
seen or heard but flowers and music; and love and joy, and groves of
never-fading palms, seemed the natives of that happy clime.

[Illustration: The Dream.]

In vain I tried to detain and comprehend the lovely but fleeting forms.
I was conscious, also, of being in a dream, and was anxious that
nothing should rouse me from it; and when I did awake, I kept my eyes
closed, in order if possible to continue the illusion. At last I opened
my eyes. The sun was now visible in the east; I must have slept the
whole night: I looked upon this as a warning not to return to the inn.
What I had left there I was content to lose, without much regret; and
resigning myself to Providence, I decided on taking a by-road that led
through the wooded declivity of the mountain. I never once cast a
glance behind me; nor did it ever occur to me to return, as I might
have done, to Bendel, whom I had left in affluence. I reflected on the
new character I was now going to assume in the world. My present garb
was very humble,--consisting of an old black coat I formerly had worn
at Berlin, and which by some chance was the first I put my hand on
before setting out on this journey, a travelling-cap, and an old pair
of boots. I cut down a knotted stick in memory of the spot, and
commenced my pilgrimage.

In the forest I met an aged peasant, who gave me a friendly greeting,
and with whom I entered into conversation, requesting, as a traveller
desirous of information, some particulars relative to the road, the
country, and its inhabitants, the productions of the mountains, &c. He
replied to my various inquiries with readiness and intelligence. At
last we reached the bed of a mountain-torrent, which had laid waste a
considerable tract of the forest; I inwardly shuddered at the idea of
the open sunshine. I suffered the peasant to go before me. In the
middle of the very place which I dreaded so much, he suddenly stopped,
and turned back to give me an account of this inundation; but instantly
perceiving that I had no shadow, he broke off abruptly, and exclaimed,
"How is this?--you have no shadow!"

"Alas, alas!" said I, "in a long and serious illness I had the
misfortune to lose my hair, my nails, and my shadow. Look, good father;
although my hair has grown again, it is quite white; and at my age, my
nails are still very short; and my poor shadow seems to have left me,
never to return."

"Ah!" said the old man, shaking his head; "no shadow! that was indeed
a terrible illness, sir."

But he did not resume his narrative; and at the very first cross-road
we came to, left me without uttering a syllable.

Fresh tears flowed from my eyes, and my cheerfulness had fled. With a
heavy heart I travelled on, avoiding all society. I plunged into the
deepest shades of the forest; and often, to avoid a sunny tract of
country, I waited for hours till every human being had left it, and I
could pass it unobserved. In the evenings I took shelter in the
villages. I bent my steps to a mine in the mountains, where I hoped to
meet with work underground; for besides that my present situation
compelled me to provide for my own support, I felt that incessant and
laborious occupation alone could divert my mind from dwelling on
painful subjects. A few rainy days assisted me materially on my
journey; but it was to the no small detriment of my boots, the
soles of which were better suited to Count Peter than to the poor
foot-traveller. I was soon barefoot, and a new purchase must be made.

[Illustration: "So was obliged to content myself with a second-hand
pair."]

The following morning I commenced an earnest search in a market-place,
where a fair was being held; and I saw in one of the booths new and
second-hand boots set out for sale. I was a long time selecting and
bargaining; I wished much to have a new pair, but was frightened at
the extravagant price; and so was obliged to content myself with a
second-hand pair, still pretty good and strong, which the beautiful
fair-haired youth who kept the booth handed over to me with a cheerful
smile, wishing me a prosperous journey. I went on, and left the place
immediately by the northern gate.

I was so lost in my own thoughts, that I walked along scarcely knowing
how or where. I was calculating the chances of my reaching the mine by
the evening, and considering how I should introduce myself. I had not
gone two hundred steps, when I perceived I was not in the right road. I
looked round, and found myself in a wild-looking forest of ancient
firs, where apparently the stroke of the axe had never been heard. A
few steps more brought me amid huge rocks covered with moss and
saxifragous plants, between which whole fields of snow and ice were
extended. The air was intensely cold. I looked round, and the forest
had disappeared behind me; a few steps more, and there was the
stillness of death itself. The icy plain on which I stood stretched to
an immeasurable distance, and a thick cloud rested upon it; the sun was
of a red blood-colour at the verge of the horizon; the cold was
insupportable. I could not imagine what had happened to me. The
benumbing frost made me quicken my pace. I heard a distant sound of
waters; and, at one step more, I stood on the icy shore of some ocean.
Innumerable droves of sea-dogs rushed past me and plunged into the
waves. I continued my way along this coast, and again met with rocks,
plains, birch and fir forests, and yet only a few minutes had elapsed.

It was now intensely hot. I looked around, and suddenly found myself
between some fertile rice-fields and mulberry-trees; I sat down under
their shade, and found by my watch that it was just one quarter of an
hour since I had left the village-market. I fancied it was a dream; but
no, I was indeed awake, as I felt by the experiment I made of biting my
tongue. I closed my eyes, in order to collect my scattered thoughts.
Presently I heard unintelligible words uttered in a nasal tone; and I
beheld two Chinese, whose Asiatic physiognomies were not to be
mistaken, even had their costume not betrayed their origin. They were
addressing me in the language and with the salutations of their
country.

[Illustration: On the shores of the Frozen Sea.]

I rose, and drew back a couple of steps. They had disappeared; the
landscape was entirely changed; the rice-fields had given place to
trees and woods. I examined some of the trees and plants around me, and
ascertained such of them as I was acquainted with to be productions of
the southern part of Asia. I made one step towards a particular tree,
and again all was changed. I now moved on like a recruit at drill,
taking slow and measured steps, gazing with astonished eyes at the
wonderful variety of regions, plains, meadows, mountains, steppes, and
sandy deserts, which passed in succession before me. I had now no doubt
that I had seven-leagued boots on my feet.

I fell on my knees in silent gratitude, shedding tears of thankfulness;
for I now saw clearly what was to be my future condition. Shut out by
early sins from all human society, I was offered amends for the
privation by Nature herself, which I had ever loved. The earth was
granted me as a rich garden; and the knowledge of her operations was to
be the study and object of my life. This was not a mere resolution. I
have since endeavoured, with anxious and unabated industry, faithfully
to imitate the finished and brilliant model then presented to me; and
my vanity has received a check when led to compare the picture with the
original. I rose immediately, and took a hasty survey of this new
field, where I hoped afterwards to reap a rich harvest.

I stood on the heights of Thibet; and the sun I had lately beheld in
the east was now sinking in the west. I traversed Asia from east to
west, and thence passed into Africa, which I curiously examined at
repeated visits in all directions. As I gazed on the ancient pyramids
and temples of Egypt, I descried, in the sandy deserts near Thebes of
the hundred gates, the caves where Christian hermits dwelt of old.

My determination was instantly taken, that here should be my future
dwelling. I chose one of the most secluded, but roomy, comfortable, and
inaccessible to the jackals.

I stepped over from the pillars of Hercules to Europe; and having taken
a survey of its northern and southern countries, I passed by the north
of Asia, on the polar glaciers, to Greenland, and America, visiting
both parts of this continent; and the winter, which was already at its
height in the south, drove me quickly back from Cape Horn to the north.
I waited till daylight had risen in the east of Asia, and then, after a
short rest, continued my pilgrimage. I followed in both the Americas
the vast chain of the Andes, once considered the loftiest on our globe.
I stepped carefully and slowly from one summit to another, sometimes
over snowy heights, sometimes over flaming volcanoes, often breathless
from fatigue. At last I reached Elias's mountain, and sprang over
Behring's straits into Asia; I followed the western coast in its
various windings, carefully observing which of the neighbouring isles
was accessible to me. From the peninsula of Malacca, my boots carried
me to Sumatra, Java, Bali, and Lombock. I made many attempts--often
with danger, and always unsuccessfully--to force my way over the
numerous little islands and rocks with which this sea is studded,
wishing to find a north-west passage to Borneo and other islands of the
Archipelago.

At last I sat down at the extreme point of Lombock, my eyes turned
towards the south-east, lamenting that I had so soon reached the limits
allotted to me, and bewailing my fate as a captive in his grated cell.
Thus was I shut out from that remarkable country, New Holland, and the
islands of the southern ocean, so essentially necessary to a knowledge
of the earth, and which would have best assisted me in the study of the
animal and vegetable kingdoms. And thus, at the very outset, I beheld
all my labours condemned to be limited to mere fragments.

Ah! Chamisso, what is the activity of man?

Frequently in the most rigorous winters of the southern hemisphere I
have rashly thrown myself on a fragment of drifting ice between Cape
Horn and Van Dieman's Land, in the hope of effecting a passage to New
Holland, reckless of the cold and the vast ocean, reckless of my fate,
even should this savage land prove my grave.

But all in vain--I never reached New Holland. Each time, when defeated
in my attempt, I returned to Lombock; and seated at its extreme point,
my eyes directed to the south-east, I gave way afresh to lamentations
that my range of investigation was so limited. At last I tore myself
from the spot, and, heartily grieved at my disappointment, returned to
the interior of Asia. Setting out at morning dawn, I traversed it from
east to west, and at night reached the cave in Thebes which I had
previously selected for my dwelling-place, and had visited yesterday
afternoon.

[Illustration: At last I sat down at the extreme point of Lombock,
lamenting.]

After a short repose, as soon as daylight had visited Europe, it was my
first care to provide myself with the articles of which I stood most in
need. First of all a drag, to act on my boots; for I had experienced
the inconvenience of these whenever I wished to shorten my steps and
examine surrounding objects more fully. A pair of slippers to go over
the boots served the purpose effectually; and from that time I carried
two pairs about me, because I frequently cast them off from my feet in
my botanical investigations, without having time to pick them up, when
threatened by the approach of lions, men, or hyenas. My excellent
watch, owing to the short duration of my movements, was also on these
occasions an admirable chronometer. I wanted, besides, a sextant, a few
philosophical instruments, and some books. To purchase these things, I
made several unwilling journeys to London and Paris, choosing a time
when I could be hid by the favouring clouds. As all my ill-gotten gold
was exhausted, I carried over from Africa some ivory, which is there so
plentiful, in payment of my purchases--taking care, however, to pick
out the smallest teeth, in order not to overburden myself. I had thus
soon provided myself with all that I wanted, and now entered on a new
mode of life as a student--wandering over the globe--measuring the
height of the mountains, and the temperature of the air and of the
springs--observing the manners and habits of animals--investigating
plants and flowers. From the equator to the pole, and from the new
world to the old, I was constantly engaged in repeating and comparing
my experiments.

My usual food consisted of the eggs of the African ostrich or northern
sea-birds, with a few fruit, especially those of the palm and the
banana of the tropics. The tobacco-plant consoled me when I was
depressed; and the affection of my spaniel was a compensation for the
loss of human Sympathy and society. When I returned from my excursions,
loaded with fresh treasures, to my cave in Thebes, which he guarded
during my absence, he ever sprang joyfully forward to greet me, and
made me feel that I was indeed not alone on the earth. An adventure
soon occurred which brought me once more among my fellow-creatures.

                           *   *   *   *   *

One day, as I was gathering lichens and algae on the northern coast,
with the drag on my boots, a bear suddenly made his appearance, and was
stealing towards me round the corner of a rock. After throwing away my
slippers, I attempted to step across to an island, by means of a rock,
projecting from the waves in the intermediate space, that served as a
stepping-stone. I reached the rock safely with one foot, but instantly
fell into the sea with the other, one of my slippers having
inadvertently remained on. The cold was intense; and I escaped this
imminent peril at the risk of my life. On coming ashore, I hastened to
the Libyan sands, to dry myself in the sun; but the heat affected my
head so much, that, in a fit of illness, I staggered back to the north.
In vain I sought relief by change of place--hurrying from east to west,
and from west to east--now in climes of the south, now in those of the
north; sometimes I rushed into daylight, sometimes into the shades of
night. I know not how long this lasted. A burning fever raged in my
veins; with extreme anguish I felt my senses leaving me. Suddenly, by
an unlucky accident, I trod upon someone's foot, whom I had hurt, and
received a blow in return, which laid me senseless.

On recovering, I found myself lying comfortably in a good bed, which,
with many other beds, stood in a spacious and handsome apartment.
Someone was watching by me; people seemed to be walking from one bed to
another; they came beside me, and spoke of me as _Number Twelve_. On
the wall, at the foot of my bed,--it was no dream, for I distinctly
read it,--on a black-marble tablet was inscribed my name, in large
letters of gold:

                            PETER SCHLEMIHL.

Underneath were two rows of letters in smaller characters, which I was
too feeble to connect together, and closed my eyes again.

I now heard something read aloud, in which I distinctly noted the words
"Peter Schlemihl," but could not collect the full meaning. I saw a man
of benevolent aspect, and a very beautiful female dressed in black,
standing near my bed; their countenances were not unknown to me, but in
my weak state I could not remember who they were. Some time elapsed,
and I began to regain my strength. I was called Number Twelve, and,
from my long beard, was supposed to be a Jew, but was not the less
carefully nursed on that account. No one seemed to perceive that I was
destitute of a shadow. My boots, I was assured, together with every
thing found on me when I was brought here, were in safe keeping, and
would be given up to me on my restoration to health. This place was
called the SCHLEMIHLIUM: the daily recitation I had heard, was an
exhortation to pray for Peter Schlemihl as the founder and benefactor
of this institution. The benevolent-looking man whom I had seen by my
bedside was Bendel; the beautiful lady in black was Minna.

I had been enjoying the advantages of the Schlemihlium without being
recognised; and I learned, further, that I was in Bendel's native town,
where he had employed a part of my once unhallowed gold in founding a
hospital in my name, under his superintendence, and that its
unfortunate inmates daily pronounced blessings on me. Minna had become
a widow: an unhappy law-suit had deprived Rascal of his life, and Minna
of the greater part of her property. Her parents were no more; and here
she dwelt in widowed piety, wholly devoting herself to works of mercy.

One day, as she stood by the side of Number Twelve's bed with Bendel,
he said to her, "Noble lady, why expose yourself so frequently to this
unhealthy atmosphere? Has fate dealt so harshly with you as to render
you desirous of death?"

"By no means, Mr. Bendel," she replied; "since I have awoke from my
long dream, all has gone well with me. I now neither wish for death nor
fear it, and think on the future and on the past with equal serenity.
Do you not also feel an inward satisfaction in thus paying a pious
tribute of gratitude and love to your old master and friend?"

"Thanks be to God, I do, noble lady," said he. "Ah, how wonderfully has
everything fallen out! How thoughtlessly have we sipped joys and
sorrows from the full cup now drained to the last drop; and we might
fancy the past a mere prelude to the real scene for which we now wait
armed by experience. How different has been the reality! Yet let us not
regret the past, but rather rejoice that we have not lived in vain. As
respects our old friend also, I have a firm hope that it is now better
with him than formerly."

"I trust so too," answered Minna; and so saying, she passed by me, and
they departed.

This conversation made a deep impression on me; and I hesitated whether
I should reveal myself, or depart unknown. At last I decided; and,
asking for pen and paper, wrote as follows:--

"Matters are indeed better with your old friend than formerly. He has
repented; and his repentance has led to forgiveness."

I now attempted to rise, for I felt myself stronger. The keys of a
little chest near my bed were given me; and in it I found all my
effects. I put on my clothes--fastened my botanical case round me,
wherein, with delight, I found my northern lichens all safe--put on my
boots--and leaving my note on the table, left the gates, and was
speedily far advanced on the road to Thebes.

Passing along the Syrian coast, which was the same road I had taken on
last leaving home, I beheld poor Figaro, my spaniel, running to meet
me. The faithful animal, after vainly waiting at home for his master's
return, had probably followed his traces. I stood still, and called
him. He sprang towards me with leaps and barks, and a thousand
demonstrations of unaffected delight. I took him in my arms--for he was
unable to follow me--and carried him home.

There I found everything exactly in the order in which I had left it;
and returned by degrees, as my increasing strength allowed me, to my
old occupations and usual mode of life, from which I was kept back a
whole year by my fall into the Polar ocean. And this, dear Chamisso, is
the life I am still leading. My boots are not yet worn out, as I had
been led to fear would be the case, from that very learned work of
Tieckius--_De rebus gestis Pollicilli_. Their energies remain
unimpaired; and although mine are gradually failing me, I enjoy the
consolation of having spent them in pursuing incessantly one object,
and that not fruitlessly.

[Illustration: Peter at Home.]

So far as my boots would carry me, I have observed and studied our
globe and its conformation, its mountains and temperature, the
atmosphere in its various changes, the influences of the magnetic
power,--in fact, I have studied all living creation--and more
especially the kingdom of plants--more profoundly than any one of our
race. I have arranged all the facts in proper order, to the best of my
ability, in different works. The consequences deducible from these
facts, and my views respecting them, I have hastily recorded in some
essays and dissertations. I have settled the geography of the interior
of Africa and the Arctic regions, of the interior of Asia and of its
eastern coast. My _Historia stirpium plantarum utriusque orbis_ is an
extensive fragment of a _Flora universalis terræ_ and a part of my
_Systema naturæ_. Besides increasing the number of our known species by
more than a third, I have also contributed somewhat to the natural
system of plants, and to a knowledge of their geography. I am now
deeply engaged on my _Fauna_, and shall take care to have my
manuscripts sent to the University of Berlin before my decease.

I have selected thee, my dear Chamisso, to be the guardian of my
wonderful history, thinking that, when I have left this world, it may
afford valuable instruction to the living. As for thee, Chamisso, if
thou wouldst live amongst thy fellow-creatures, learn to value thy
shadow more than gold; if thou wouldst only live to thyself and thy
nobler part--in this thou needest no counsel.

                             THE COLD HEART

                              INTRODUCTION

                             WILHELM HAUFF

Wilhelm Hauff was born on the 29th November, 1802, at Stuttgart, and
died in the same town on the 18th November, 1827, within a few days of
completing his twenty-fifth year.

Losing his father when but six years of age, he was placed in the care
of his grandfather in Tübingen, and was later sent to a convent school
at Blaubeuren. Returning to Tübingen, he devoted four years, 1820-24,
to the study of theology, and was appointed tutor to the family of
Baron von Hügel in Stuttgart.

It was at this time that Hauff began his remarkable literary career
with the publication in November, 1825, of his "Fairy Tale Annual for
1826." The years 1826 and 1827 saw the appearance of two succeeding
annuals of fairy stories, which were everywhere received with the most
enthusiastic admiration.

Hauff's productivity was truly amazing; in four years he wrote, besides
the fairy-tales, poems, short stories, fantasies satirical and
humourous, and the classic novel "Lichtenstein," all of which have
gained an enduring place in German literature.

Returning from a journey through France, Holland and North Germany,
Hauff was appointed to the literary editorship of the "Morgenblatt," a
position which enabled him to marry, the wedding taking place in
Nördlingen, on the 13th February, 1827.

Hauff's journalistic duties did not interfere with his activity in
other spheres of literary work. In this last year of his short life he
continued to produce short stories and fantasies, his experiences while
on his travels furnishing him with plenty of material. Indeed, it was
while on a journey that he wrote the second "Fairy-tale Annual."

Shortly after his marriage he set himself to the composition of his
third a final "Annual"--the connecting story of which is entitled "The
Inn in Spessart," and in which occurs the story of "The Cold Heart," a
new translation of which is published in the present volume.

Hauff's brilliant career was now drawing to a close. The last work to
proceed from his pen was the playful fantasy, "Phantasien im Bremer
Ratskeller." Early in November, 1827, a daughter was born to him; but
he was already suffering from an attack of typhoid fever, to which he
succumbed on the 18th day of the same month.

Notwithstanding the genius displayed in his other works, the
"Fairytales" will always be regarded as the most precious legacy which
the great author has bequeathed to posterity; and of these "The Cold
Heart" holds undoubtedly the first place in popular esteem. Unlike the
majority of his fairy-tales, it owes something of its origin to
folk-lore, as it is based on an old Black Forest Legend. But the human
figures in the story are Hauff's very own; those conversant with the
master's works will recognise in Charcoal Peter and Fat Ezekiel
characters which only Hauff could have created.

As in all his fairy-tales the human element is supreme, even Dutch
Michael and the Glassmanikin evince more human characteristics than
supernatural, and though they came from a mythological source they
never appear to us pale and colourless as the supernatural beings in
the fairy-tales of the brothers Grimm. Having chosen the groundwork of
his story, Hauff developed it with all the force of his vivid
imagination, fantastic humour and rare talent for narration.

                                        H. ROBERTSON MURRAY.

                             THE COLD HEART

                                 PART I.

He who travels through Suabia should not pass without seeing something
of the Black Forest; not because of the trees, although such countless
masses of stately pines are not to be met with everywhere; but because
of the people, who differ remarkably from their neighbours on every
side. They are broad-shouldered and strong-limbed and taller than the
generality of human beings; it is as if the invigorating air, which
blows every morning through the pines, has endowed them with a freer
respiration, a clearer eye and a firmer though, perhaps, rougher
courage than is possessed by the dwellers in valley and on plain.
And not only in bearing and stature, but also in customs and dress
they form a marked contrast to those who live beyond the confines
of the forest. The costume of the Baden Black Forester is the
more picturesque: with full-grown beards, as in accordance with
Nature's intention, the men, in their black jerkins, their enormous
narrow-pleated breeches, their red stockings and their peaked,
broad-brimmed hats, have an air somewhat strange, but, at the same
time, serious and dignified. These people are mostly occupied in
glassblowing; but they are also noted for the manufacture of clocks,
which are exported to all parts of the world.

On the other side of the forest dwell people of the same stock; but
their employment has imparted to them habits, manners and customs
differing from those of the glass-blowers. They are occupied with their
forest, felling and splitting up the pine trees, which they float down
the Nagold to the Necker, and thence to the Rhine and to far-away
Holland. The Black Foresters and their rafts are familiar objects even
to the inhabitants of the remote coast regions. The raftsmen touch at
every town along the river, proudly awaiting offers for their baulks
and beams; but the strongest and the longest of the former they sell
for gold to the Mynheers, who build ships of them. These men are
accustomed, therefore, to a rough, wandering existence. Their delight
is to float down stream on their rafts, while the return homeward along
the river-banks is but weary work.

Their holiday costume is also very different from that of the
glass-blowers on the other side of the Black Forest. They wear dark
linen jerkins with wide, green braces across their broad chests, and
black leathern breeches, from the pocket of which peeps, as a badge of
honour, the end of a brass foot-rule. But they take most joy and pride
in their boots, the biggest, perhaps, which have ever been in fashion
in any part of the world, for these are drawn quite two handspans above
the knee, so that the raftsmen can wade knee deep in the water without
getting wet.

Until quite recently the inhabitants of this forest believed it
inhabited by supernatural beings, and it is only latterly that they
have begun to abandon the superstition, and it is remarkable that even
the forest spirits, which according to legend haunt the Black Forest,
are also distinguished by their different costume and habits. Thus we
are assured, the Glass-manikin, a benevolent elf, of about four feet in
height, is never seen in anything but a little peaked broad trimmed
hat, with jerkin, knee-breeches and red stockings.

Dutch Michael again, who dwells on the other side of the forest, is
said to be a gigantic, broad shouldered fellow, dressed in like fashion
to the raftsmen; and many people, who have seen him, are wont to
declare that they would not like to bear the cost of the calves, the
skins of which have gone to the making of the boots. "So big are they
that an ordinary man could stand up to his neck in them," say the
latter, protesting that the description is no exaggerated one.

Now, there is a story of the very strange adventure which a young Black
Forester once had with these forest spirits, and which story I will now
relate.

In the Black Forest there lived a widow, one Mistress Barbara Munk; her
husband had been a charcoal burner, and after his death she brought up
her son, a lad of sixteen, to the same calling. Peter Munk, a slenderly
built young fellow, took to the business as a matter of course, because
he had never seen his father do aught else but sit by his smoking
charcoal-kiln, or, blackened and begrimed, travel to the towns to sell
his charcoal.

Now, a charcoal-burner has a great deal of time for meditation on
things as they are, and on himself; and as Peter Munk sat before his
kiln, the dark trees around him and the heavy silence of the forest
stirred his heart to sorrow and to vague longings. He felt grieved and
vexed at something; but what that something was he could not tell. At
last, the cause of his discontent was revealed to him: it was--his
position in the world.

"A grimy, lonely charcoal-burner!" he exclaimed to himself. "What a
wretched existence! Look at the glassblowers, the watchmakers, even the
musicians who play on Sunday evenings--how they are respected! And I,
Peter Munk, though cleaned up and dressed in my father's best jerkin
with the silver buttons, and with my brand-new red stockings on, if
someone follows me and asks himself 'Who can that slim young fellow
be?'--admiring my stockings and easy gait, no sooner does he pass me
and chance to look round, than he exclaims, 'Pooh, it's only that
charcoal-burning Peter Munk after all.'"

The raftsmen on the other side of the forest were also objects of his
envy. When these giants came over to his side of the forest, in all
their glory of apparel, their buttons, chains and buckles representing
great weight and wealth of silver; when they stood with outstretched
legs looking on at the dancing, swearing Dutch oaths, and smoking
yard-long Rhenish pipes like the grandest Mynheers, each of these
handsome raftsmen appeared to him to be a perfect representation of a
really happy man. And when one of these lucky fellows chanced to dive
his hands into his pockets, bringing forth whole handsful of silver
thalers, and throwing them down on the dice table, five gulden here,
ten there, Peter became well-nigh distracted, and slunk dolefully back
to his hut; for on many a festival he had seen one or other of these
woodsmen play away more money than his poor father had been able to
earn in a year.

There were three of these men in particular of whom he could not say
which he admired the most. One was a big, fat, red-faced man, generally
conceded to be the richest person in those parts. He was called Fat
Ezekiel. Twice a year he travelled to Amsterdam with building timber,
and always had the good fortune to dispose of it at so much better
profit than his comrades could, that he was able to travel homewards in
luxurious style, while they were compelled to return on foot.

The second was the tallest and lankiest fellow in the whole forest. He
was called Lanky Schlurker, and Munk envied him because of his
extraordinary boldness. He would flatly contradict the most worthy
people, and always took up more room in the overcrowded tavern than was
required by four others of the bulkiest, leaning with both elbows on
the table, or stretching his legs along the bench; yet nobody dared to
complain, for he was fabulously rich.

The third was a handsome young man, the best dancer for miles round,
who had earned the nickname of the Dance King. He had formerly been a
poor man in the service of a wealthy timber merchant; but all at once
he had become immensely rich. Some said that he had found a jar, full
of money, at the root of an old pine tree; others maintained that not
far from Bingen on the Rhine he had brought up with his pole, such as
the raftsmen use to spear fish, a bundle filled with gold, and that
this bundle had formed part of the great Nibelung's hoard which lies
buried there. But no matter--the fact was that he had suddenly become
rich, and was consequently respected by young and old as if he had been
a prince.

The charcoal-burner, Peter Munk, thought long and oft of these men as
he sat alone among the pine-trees. All three of them had one great
failing which made them hated by all; and this common failing was
their inhuman avarice, their callousness towards debtors and the poor,
for the Black-foresters were a kindly and good-hearted people.
Nevertheless, as is often found in such cases, though they were hated
because of their covetousness, they were held in awe because of their
money; for who but they could fling thalers broadcast as though by
simply shaking the pine-trees the money fell into their hands.

"I cannot endure this any longer!" said Peter to himself, sorely
depressed, one day when there had been a fête, and the people had
foregathered in the tavern to enjoy themselves. "If I do not soon have
a stroke of luck, I shall be doing myself some harm. Oh, if I were only
as rich and feared as Fat Ezekiel, or as bold and strong as the Lanky
Schlurker, or as famous as the Dance King, throwing thalers instead of
kreuzers to the musicians, as he does! Where the fellow gets his money
from is a mystery to me!" He turned over in his mind all possible means
of earning money, but none attracted him; at last, he fell to
reflecting on the stories which he had heard of people who in bygone
times had become rich through the aid of Dutch Michael or the
Glassmanikin. While his father was alive, other poor folk would often
pay him visits, and the conversation would turn on rich people and how
they had gained their wealth. In these stories the Glassmanikin often
played a part. Indeed, after some striving, Peter was able to recall a
portion of the little rhymed incantation which had to be pronounced in
the depths of the forest before the Glassmanikin would appear. It began
thus:

     "Guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold,
      Art many hundred ages old.
      Lord of all lands where pine-trees grow."

But tax his memory as he might, he could not recollect any more of the
rhyme. He often felt inclined to question this or that old man how the
little incantation ran, but a certain shyness always prevented him from
betraying the drift of his thoughts. He came also to the conclusion
that not many could be acquainted with the story of the Glassmanikin,
and but few could know the incantation, as there were hardly any rich
people in the forest, and--but why had not his father and other poor
folk tried their luck? At last, he coaxed his mother to talk of the
Glassmanikin; but she could only tell him what he already knew, being
able to quote only the first line of the rhymed incantation, although
she informed him, at length, that the goblin showed himself only to
those born on a Sunday between the hours of eleven and two. He himself,
having been born at noon on a Sunday, was, therefore, one of the elect,
if he but knew the incantation.

When Charcoal-Peter Munk heard this he could scarcely contain himself
with joy and eagerness to make the adventure. Because he knew a part of
the incantation and was born on Sunday, he conjectured that the
Glassmanikin would surely show himself. One day, therefore, having sold
all his charcoal he kindled no fresh fires in his kilns, but dressed
himself in his father's state-jerkin and new red stockings, donned his
Sunday hat, took his five-foot blackthorn stick in hand, and bade
farewell to his mother. "I must go to the mayoralty in town," he said,
"for we have to draw lots as to who shall serve as soldier, and I will
impress it on the mayor, for once and for all, that you are a widow and
that I am your only son."

His mother having commended his resolution, he made his way to the
Pine-grove. The Pine-grove lies on the highest point of the Black
Forest, for miles around which there lay at that time no village, not
even a hut, for the superstitious people believed that the spot was
haunted. Further, no one cared to fell wood in that quarter, though the
pines there grew tall and stately, for it often happened that when
woodcutters were at work there, their axeheads flew from the hafts and
wounded them in the foot, or the trees fell over without warning,
injuring and even killing the men round about; besides which, even the
finest trees growing there were only used as firewood, for the raftsmen
never took any timber from the Pine-grove, because the saying went that
man and wood would surely come to grief if a tree from the Pine-grove
found itself in a raft. This is the reason why the trees grew so thick
and tall in the Pine-grove, so that even in the brightest sunshine all
was as dark as night. Well might Peter Munk shudder with fear, for he
could hear no sound of of human voice, no ring of axe, and no footfall
save his own; even the very birds appeared to shun this awesome grove.

Having reached the highest point in the Pine-grove, Charcoal-Peter Munk
stood before a pine of huge circumference, one for which any Dutch
ship-builder would have given many hundred guilders on the spot.

"This must be the place," thought Peter, "where the Treasure-guardian
lives." Saying which, he doffed his big Sunday hat, made a deep bow
before the tree, cleared his throat and spoke in a trembling voice: "I
wish you a very good evening, Master Glassmanikin!"

No answer--all was as silent as before.

"Perhaps I had better recite the little verse," thought Peter, and
straightway began to mutter:

     "Guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold,
      Art many hundred ages old;
      Lord of all lands where pine-trees grow."

As he uttered these words he saw to his amazement a tiny, weird figure
peeping forth from behind the great pine tree. He fancied he could see
the little Glassmanikin just as the latter had been described to him,
with his little black jerkin, little red stockings, little hat;
everything, indeed, even the pale, but wise and refined little face of
which he had heard so much. But, alas! the Glassmanikin vanished as
quickly as he had appeared.

"Master Glassmanikin!" said Peter Munk, after a moment's hesitation,
"please don't take me for a fool!--Master Glassmanikin, if you think
that I did not catch sight of you, you are greatly mistaken: I saw you
quite clearly peeping from behind the tree."

Still no answer, though, at times, he fancied he could hear a faint,
hoarse chuckle from behind the tree. Finally, his impatience overcame
his fear, which until now had restrained him.

"Just you wait a moment, you little beggar," he cried out, "I'll soon
have you!" and at one bound he was behind the pine-tree, but there was
no "guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold," nothing but a pretty
little squirrel clambering away up the tree.

Peter Munk shook his head; he perceived that he had succeeded in
working the spell to a certain degree; and if he could only think of
the last line to the rhyme he would be able to induce the Glassmanikin
to show himself. He pondered, and pondered, and pondered, but all to no
purpose. He could see the little squirrel perched on the lowest branch
of the pine, and he could not be sure whether it was trying to inspire
him with courage or only making fun of him. It cleaned itself, whisked
its beautiful tail to and fro, gazing at him all the while with
intelligent eyes, until he began to be almost afraid of being alone
with the creature; for, at one moment, the little squirrel appeared to
have a human head covered with a three cornered hat; then it looked
just like any other squirrel, except that on its hind legs it had red
stockings and black shoes. In short it was a comical creature; but,
nevertheless, it made Charcoal Peter feel quite uncomfortable, for it
seemed to him to be so uncanny.

Peter returned at a quicker pace than he had gone thither. The gloom of
the pine-forest seemed to be intensified, the trees grew in denser
clumps, and at last he was so fearful that he broke into a run, and did
not regain courage until he heard dogs barking in the distance, and
saw, shortly afterwards the smoke from a cottage rising between the
trees. On drawing nearer, he was able to distinguish the costume of the
people in the cottage, and he realised to his consternation that he had
fled in exactly the opposite direction to the one he had intended, and
had arrived among the raftsmen instead of among the glass-blowers.
The cottagers were wood-fellers, and the family consisted of an old
man, his son, who was the owner of the cottage, and some grown-up
grandchildren. They bade Charcoal-Peter a kindly welcome when he asked
for a night's lodging, without questioning him as to his name or whence
he came, offered him cider to drink, and set on the table for supper a
large woodcock, which is the choicest dish of the Black Forest.

[Illustration: Dutch Michael felling the trees.]

After supper the housewife and her daughters betook themselves to
their spinning, sitting round the large burning wood-splinter, which
served as light and which the young people kept fed with the finest
pine-resin, while the grandfather, the house-owner and their guest
smoked and watched the women, and the boys busied themselves cutting
spoons and forks out of wood. Without, in the forest the storm howled
and rushed through the pines, heavy thuds being heard every now and
then, as if whole trees were being torn up by the roots and flung to
earth. The fearless youngsters wanted to run out into the forest to
witness the scene in all its awful grandeur, but their grandfather
forbade them with stern words and looks. "I advise no one to set foot
outside the door this night," he cried to them; "he who does so will
never return; for Dutch Michael is abroad to-night hewing down timber
for a new raft."

The young ones stared at him; although they must have heard many a time
of Dutch Michael, yet they begged their grandfather to relate them once
more some good story of that forest-spirit. Peter Munk, also, who had
only heard vague rumours of Dutch Michael on his side of the forest,
chimed in with the others and begged the old man to say who and what he
might be.

"He is the lord of this forest," answered the old man, "and for one of
your age not to have heard of him tells me that your home lies on the
other side of the Pine-grove, or even farther off. But I will relate to
you what I know of Dutch Michael, and what people say of him. About a
hundred years ago, at least, so my grandfather told me, there were no
more honourable people than the Black-Foresters in the whole world. But
now that money is so plentiful, dishonesty and evil are everywhere. Our
young lads dance and riot on the Sabbath, and swear terribly. But
formerly it was quite otherwise, and, though he himself were to look
through the window at this moment, I say, as I have said time and
again, that Dutch Michael is to blame for all the mischief. Well--one
hundred or more years ago, there lived a rich timber merchant who had a
very large business; he traded far away down the Rhine, and his affairs
prospered, for he was a good Christian. One evening there came to his
door a man, the like of whom he had never cast eyes upon. He was
dressed as one of our young Black-Foresters, but was a good head taller
than any of them; indeed, one could hardly have believed that there was
such a giant in existence. The fellow asked the merchant for work, and
the latter, seeing how strong and capable of doing heavy work he
looked, was ready to engage him at a fair wage. So the matter was
agreed upon. Michael turned out to be a workman such as that merchant
had never yet employed. He was equal to three men at felling trees, and
where it took six men to carry one end of a trunk, he could manage the
other end all by himself. But after six months at tree-felling, he went
one day to his master, and demanded of him: 'I have been hewing wood
long enough in this place, and I would like to know where the felled
trunks go; how would it be if you were to let me go for a time on one
of your rafts?'"

The timber merchant replied: "I won't stand in your way, Michael, if
you want to see a bit of the world. It's true that I am in sore need of
strong fellows like yourself for the tree-felling, while on the rafts
it is more a question of skill. For this once, however, you may go!"

And thus it was; the raft upon which he was to go was in eight parts,
the last part being composed of enormous roof-beams. But what happened?
The night before starting, this huge fellow brought down to the water
yet another eight beams, bigger and longer than any that had ever been
seen, so much so that everybody was amazed. And no one knows to this
day where he had felled them. The merchant chuckled to himself when he
calculated the price these beams would fetch. But Michael said: "These
are for me to travel upon, for I could not make any headway on those
little splinters."

His grateful master then wished to present him with a pair of
raftsmen's boots, but Michael put them aside, and brought forth another
pair, such as had never before been made. My grandfather used to
declare that they must have weighed a hundred pounds, and were five
feet in length.

The raft went on its way, and as Michael had hitherto astonished the
wood-cutters, he now caused the raftsmen to marvel; for the raft,
instead of going more slowly down the stream, as one would have
thought, taking the monstrous baulks into consideration, it simply flew
forward like an arrow as soon as it reached the Neckar. And when it
came to a bend in the river where otherwise the raftsmen would have had
trouble to keep the raft in mid-stream or to prevent it from stranding,
Michael would spring into the water, and with one push would force the
raft to left or right, so that it escaped danger; and if they came to a
shallow, he ran to the forepart of the raft, made them all lay aside
their poles, laid a huge round beam on the sandbank, and with one push
the raft sped over, so fast that land, trees and villages seemed to fly
past. Thus they came to Cologne in about half the time it usually
takes. Here it was that the wood was always sold at that time; but
Michael addressed the raftsmen: "I can see that you are all good
business men, and know how to manage your affairs to the best
advantage! Do you suppose that here in Cologne they want all the timber
which comes from the Black Forest for their own use? Not at all: they
buy it from you at half its value, and then sell it at a higher price
in Holland. Let us sell our smaller beams here, and then go on to
Holland with the big ones; and what we receive above the usual price
will be for our own profit."

Thus spoke the cunning Michael, and the others agreed; some because
they wished to go to Holland, others for the sake of the money. There
was only one honest man among them, and he tried to dissuade them from
risking their master's goods, and from cheating him out of any higher
price they might get. But they would not listen to him, and soon forgot
the words he had said; though Dutch Michael did not forget them.

The raft continued its journey down the Rhine with Michael in command,
so that it soon arrived at Rotterdam. There they received about four
times the price usually obtained, while Michael's huge baulks fetched
an enormous sum of money. When the Black Foresters saw so much gold
they could scarcely contain themselves for joy. Michael divided the
money into four parts, setting aside one for the master, and dividing
the remainder among the men. With this they mixed with sailors and evil
characters, spending their money in dissipation and debauchery in the
taverns. As to the honest man, who had warned them, Dutch Michael is
said to have sold him to a slave-dealer, for nothing more was ever
heard of him.

From that day forth Holland has been the paradise of our Black Forest
lads; the timber merchants knew nothing of this trade, and all the
while money, swearing, evil habits, drink and gambling were being
introduced by the raftsmen from Holland.

Dutch Michael, so the story goes, disappeared and was nowhere to be
found; but it is certain that he did not die. For one hundred years his
spirit has haunted the forest, and it is said that he has helped many
to become rich, at the cost of their poor souls, of which I would
rather not say any more. This much is certain, that on such stormy
nights as this he is up in the Pine-grove, where no one fells trees,
selecting the biggest pines. And my father has seen him take hold of
one, four to five feet in thickness, and snap it as one would a reed.
This is his gift to those who turn from the straight path to go to him;
at midnight they carry their timber to the water, and fare away on it
into Holland. Oh, if I were only king and lord of Holland, I would send
him to the bottom with grape-shot; for every ship, the hull of which
contains one single beam of Dutch Michael's felling, must come to
grief. And that is the reason why one hears of so many shipwrecks; how
otherwise could a fine, strong ship, as big as a church, sink in the
open sea? Every time Dutch Michael fells a pine on a stormy night in
the Black Forest, one of his old ones is sprung from the bottom of some
ship, the water rushes in, and that ship with all on board is lost.

Such is the story of Dutch Michael, and it is but the truth when people
declare that he is the author of all the evil which is committed in the
Black Forest!

"Ah! he can make you rich enough!" continued the old man,
confidentially. "But I would receive nothing at his hands, not for all
the gold in the world would I stand in the shoes of Fat Ezekiel or the
Lanky Schlurker. And it is also thought that the Dance-King is one of
his familiars."

The storm had abated during the recital of the old man's story; the
girls lit the lamps, and stole away; the men gave Peter Munk a sack
full of leaves to serve as a pillow, and left him to sleep on the
hearth, wishing him good-night as they went.

Never in his life had Charcoal-Peter dreamed so heavily as during that
night. First there appeared to him the dark gigantic form of Dutch
Michael, who wrenched open the window and stretched an enormously long
arm into the room, in the hand of which was a purse full of gold
pieces, which he shook so that the money jingled temptingly. Then he
saw the little, friendly Glassmanikin riding round the room on a huge
green bottle, and he seemed again to hear that hoarse chuckle he had
heard in the Pine-grove. Then it was as if someone was murmuring in his
left ear:

     "From Holland comes Gold!
      Canst have it, if bold.
      For payment soon told!
      Gold! Gold!"

Then again in his right ear he heard the little rhyme beginning:

     "Guardian of gold in the pine tree wold!"

and a soft voice whispered: "Stupid Charcoal-Peter! silly Peter Munk!
cannot you find a rhyme to 'grow,' and yet you were born at noon on a
Sunday! Rhyme, stupid Peter, rhyme!"

[Illustration: Peter's dream in the woodman's cottage.]

He sighed and groaned in his sleep, he tried hard to find a rhyme; but
as he had never been able to make one when awake, to do so in a dream
was equally beyond him. But when he awoke with the first flush of dawn,
his dream seemed to have been very wonderful; he sat with folded arms
at the table, and thought of the whispered exhortation which still
resounded in his ear: "Rhyme, stupid Charcoal-Peter, rhyme!" he
repeated to himself, pressing his finger to his forehead; but no rhyme
was forthcoming. But while he sat there, staring despondently in front
of him and trying to think of a rhyme to "grow," three lads passed the
house on their way through the forest, and one of them was singing as
he trudged along:

     "To the mountains there above,
      To the heights where pine-trees grow,
      I go to meet my love;
      She's true to me, I know."

The words thrilled Peter's senses like a flash of lightning. He leapt
to his feet and rushed out of the house, for he was not sure whether he
had caught the words correctly. He ran after the three lads, and seized
the singer by the arm.

"Stop, my friend!" he cried, "what was it you made to rhyme with
'grow'? For the love of Heaven tell me what you were singing?"

"What ever is the matter with you?" demanded the Black Forester. "I can
sing what I like--and if you don't leave go of my arm, I'll----"

"Not till you tell me what you were singing," screamed Peter, nearly
beside himself, and gripping the other more tightly by the arm.

Seeing which, the two friends of the singer lost all patience, and
started punching the wretched Peter with all their might until the pain
he suffered forced him to loose his hold and to sink to his knees.

"Have you had enough?" they asked him, while laughing at him. "Take
care, you foolish fellow, that in future you do not molest people on
the public highway."

"Ah, I will be careful enough as to that," replied Charcoal-Peter,
dismally. "But now that you have beaten me, be so good as to repeat
slowly and distinctly what that friend of yours was singing."

At which all three once more burst out laughing, making game of him;
but the singer repeated the words of his song for him, and, laughing
and singing, they went their way.

"Then _know_ is the word," said Peter Munk, getting once more on to his
legs. "_Know_ rhymes with _grow_--and now Master Glassmanikin we will
have another little chat together."

[Illustration: "Have you had enough?" they asked him.]

He returned to the cottage, took his hat and long stick, bade farewell
to the cottagers, and strode away in the direction of the pine-grove.
Becoming engrossed in thought, he slackened his speed, for it had
occurred to him that, now he had found a rhyme, he must complete the
verse. At length, approaching the Pine-grove, and reaching the part
where the trees grow taller and denser, he completed the missing line,
and his delight caused him to bound into the air. At the same moment
there stepped from behind a pine a gigantic man, dressed as a raftsman,
and with a pole as big as a ship's mast in his hand. Peter Munk sank in
terror to his knees, as he saw the stranger striding slowly towards
him. He felt that this could be none other than Dutch Michael. No sound
came from the terrible apparition, while Peter stole fearful glances at
him every now and then. He towered a full head above the tallest man
whom Peter had ever seen; his features were not youthful in appearance,
neither did he look old, though his face was a mass of wrinkles and
furrows. He wore a linen jerkin, and his huge boots, which were drawn
up well over his leather knee-breeches, were exactly as they had been
described to Peter.

"Peter Munk! what are you doing in the Pine-grove?" asked the lord of
the forest, at last, in deep, threatening tones.

"Good morning, countryman," answered Peter, trying to conceal his
terror, but trembling violently all the same. "I am going home through
the Pine-grove."

"Peter Munk," rejoined the other, surveying him with a terrible
penetrating look. "Your way lies not through this glade."

"You are quite right," said Peter, "but it is so hot to-day, and I
thought it would be cooler here."

"Utter no falsehoods, Charcoal-Peter!" thundered Dutch Michael; "or I
will strike you to earth with my staff! Do you think that I have not
seen you begging of that pigmy yonder?" And he continued in more gentle
tones: "Go to! Go to! that was a silly thing to do, and well it was for
you that you did not know the incantation. He is a niggard, that little
fellow, and gives but little; and those to whom he gives have not
enough wherewith to enjoy themselves. Peter, you are a poor simpleton,
and my heart grieves for you; such a brave and handsome fellow as
you are, one who should make his mark in the world, and yet but a
charcoal-burner! While others can throw away whole armsful of thalers
and ducats, you have but a few farthings to spend;--'tis a wretched
existence."

"True! true! You are right! 'Tis a miserable life!"

"Well, it is no fault of mine," pursued the terrible Michael; "I have
already rescued many a brave fellow from misery, and you would not be
the first. Tell me: how many hundred thalers do you want to begin
with?"

As he spoke Michael rattled the money in his huge pocket, and the sound
of it was as in the dream overnight. But his words caused Peter's heart
to quake fearfully and painfully in his breast, he went hot and cold,
for he did not look as one who offers gold out of compassion without
expecting something in exchange.

[Illustration: Peter Munk, what are you doing in the pine grove?]

There flashed into his mind the mysterious words of the old man when
speaking of those who had become rich, whereupon, seized with
indefinable horror and dread, he exclaimed: "Many thanks, good sir! but
I would rather have nothing to do with you; I have heard enough of you
already!" Saying which, he turned and ran away as fast as he could.

But the Forest demon, taking enormous strides, kept at his side,
muttering in a dull and threatening voice: "You will repent this,
Peter--so stands it written on your brow; I can read it in your eyes!
_You cannot escape me!_--Run not so fast: hearken to a word of reason;
yonder is the boundary of my domain."

Hearing this and seeing not far ahead a little ditch, Peter redoubled
his speed in order to cross it and escape, and Michael was compelled to
hurry in order to keep up with him, cursing and muttering threats the
while. On coming to the ditch, the lad made a desperate leap, for he
perceived that the demon had raised his staff to crush him with it.
Luckily he managed to jump the ditch, and as he did so the staff flew
into splinters as though it had struck against an invisible wall, while
a large piece of it fell at Peter's feet.

He seized it, turning triumphantly to hurl it at the brutal Dutch
Michael; but, in the same moment, he felt the wood moving in his hand,
and discovered to his horror that he had hold of a huge snake, which
was rearing its head at him with venomous tongue and glittering eyes.
He loosened his grasp of it; but it had already entwined itself about
his arm, bringing its swaying head nearer and nearer to his face. Then,
in a flash, a monstrous woodcock swept down from above, seized the
snake in its beak, and bore it aloft in the air. Dutch Michael, who had
been watching the scene from the further side of the ditch, howled and
shouted and raved as he saw the snake overpowered by this powerful
antagonist.

[Illustration: "Then, in a flash, a monstrous woodcock swept down from
above and seized the snake in its beak."]

Exhausted and trembling, Peter pursued his way; the path grew steeper,
the scene ever wilder, until he found his way blocked by a huge
pine-tree.

Bowing low towards the invisible Glassmanikin, just as he had done the
day before, he began:

     "Guardian of all in the pine-tree wold,
      Art many hundred ages old,
      Lord of all lands where pine-trees grow,
      Thee only Sunday's children know."

"You haven't quite hit it, Charcoal-Peter; but as it is yourself, we
will let it pass," said a soft clear voice close by him. He turned
round in amazement; and there, under a splendid pine-tree, he saw a
little, old manikin, clad in black jerkin and red stockings, and with a
large hat on his head. He had a delicate friendly little face and
beard, the latter as fine as a spider's web. And what was the more
wonderful, he was smoking a pipe of blue glass; and Peter, on going
nearer was astounded to see that the little man's clothes, shoes and
hat were also made of coloured glass; yet it was as pliant as if still
molten, for it folded and creased like cloth with every movement of the
little body.

"So you have just met that vagabond, Dutch Michael," said the manikin,
with an odd wheeze between each word. "He tried to give you a good
fright; but I have relieved him of that magic cudgel of his--it will
never serve him again as a weapon."

"Yes, Master Guardian," replied Peter, with a deep bow "I was quite
terrified. You must indeed have been that Master Woodcock which bit the
snake to death; for which I thank you with all my heart. But I have
come to you for advice; things are very bad and irksome with me; a
charcoal-burner cannot do much for himself; and as I am still young, I
thought that, perhaps, I could become something better. And I cannot
help thinking of others, and how well they have done for themselves in
a very short time--take, for example, that fellow, Ezekiel, and the
Dance-King, why, money is to them as leaves in autumn."

"Peter," said the little man gravely, emitting a long puff of smoke
from his mouth: "Peter, don't mention such people to me. What profit
have those who are able to appear to be happy for a year or two, only
at the cost of misery hereafter? You must not despise your trade; it
was your father's and your grandfather's before you, and they were
worthy men, Peter Munk! I should not like to think that it is love of
idleness that has led you to me!"

The seriousness with which the manikin spoke disconcerted Peter. "No,
no," he replied, blushing. "Idleness, I know well, Master Guardian, is
the root of all evil; but you cannot blame me for preferring other
trades to my own. Charcoal-burning is held by the world to be such a
mean calling, while glassblowers, and raftsmen, and watchmakers and
such like are highly respected."

"Pride often comes before a fall," replied the diminutive lord of the
Pine-forest, in somewhat friendlier tones. "You are a peculiar race,
you human beings! It is seldom indeed that one is found who is
contented with the lot to which he was born and bred. And to little
purpose would it be if you did become a glass-blower, you would then
yearn to be a timber-merchant; and were you timber-merchant, you would
at once be coveting the post of forester or magistrate! Yet, so be it,
Peter! if you promise me to be diligent, I will help you to something
better. To every Sunday's child who knows how to find me, I am bound to
accord three wishes. The first two I freely grant; but the third I can
refuse, if it be a foolish one. Wherefore, Peter, wish yourself
something: but take care that it is something good and useful!"

[Illustration: You hav'nt quite hit, Charcoal Peter.]

"Hurrah! what a splendid Glass-manikin you are; you rightly deserve to
be called Guardian, for you can dispense treasures indeed! Well--and so
I may wish for whatever my heart desires! Now, for my first, I wish I
could dance even better than the Dance-King, and could always have as
much money in my pocket as Fat Ezekiel."

"You idiot!" cried the dwarf, angrily. "What a miserable wish--to be a
good dancer, and to have money wherewith to gamble! Are you not ashamed
of yourself, you stupid Peter, to cheat yourself of so good a chance of
happiness? What good will your dancing be to your mother or to
yourself? How will your money help you, which, according to your wish,
is only for the tavern, and will only stay there like that of the
wretched Dance-King? For the rest of the week you will have nothing,
and be no better off than before. One more wish I am to grant you; but
take care you ask for something more sensible." Peter scratched his
head, and after a little hesitation, said: "Well, I will wish myself
the finest and richest glass-factory in the whole Black Forest with
everything complete and money to carry it on."

"Nothing else?" asked the little man, anxiously. "Nothing else, Peter?"

"Well--you might add a horse, and a little trap--"

"Oh, you stupid Charcoal-Peter!" exclaimed the dwarf, throwing his
glass-pipe angrily against a big pine, where it shattered to atoms.
"Horses! Traps! _Sense_, I say to you, _good sense, sound common-sense
and insight_ you should have wished for--not horses and traps. Ah well,
don't be so downcast; we will see whether we cannot keep you from
coming to harm, for the second wish was not so foolish on the whole. A
good glass-factory will support both master and man; if you had only
insight and understanding into the bargain, carriages and horses would
have come of themselves."

"But, Master Guardian," remarked Peter, "I have still one wish left. I
could wish for sense with that, if it is so supremely necessary as you
say."

"No, no, Peter. You will find yourself in many an awkward fix yet, when
you will be glad that you have still another wish left you. For the
present, take yourself homewards. Here are two thousand guilders,"
continued the little forest gnome, drawing a little purse from his
pocket. "Be satisfied with them; for if you come here again asking for
money, I shall have to hang you to the tallest of yonder pine-trees.
Such has been my custom ever since I came to live in this forest. Old
Winkfritz, who owned that large glass-factory in the lower part of the
forest, died three days ago. Go thither early to-morrow morning, and
make a bid for the property. Behave yourself, be industrious, and I
will visit you from time to time, to be at hand with advice and help,
seeing that you did not wish for common-sense. But--and I am now
speaking in all seriousness--your first wish was a bad one. Have a care
of becoming too fond of the tavern, Peter! it is a place which brings
good to nobody in the long run!"

While speaking, the little man had pulled out another pipe of the
finest flint-glass, and after filling it with dried pine-needles, had
thrust it into his little, toothless mouth. He then produced a huge
burning-glass, stepped into the sunlight and lit his pipe. This
business over, he turned to Peter, and shook hands with him in the most
friendly manner, gave him a few more words of advice, puffed away at
his pipe even more vigorously until he disappeared in a cloud of smoke
which gave forth an aroma of the finest Dutch tobacco as it curled
slowly upwards among the pine branches overhead.

On arriving home, Peter found his mother in great trouble about him,
for the good lady had come to the conclusion that her son must have
enlisted as a soldier. But with great glee he bade her be of good
cheer, telling her how he had fallen in with a good friend in the
forest, who had advanced him money so that he could set himself up in a
business other than charcoal-burning. Although his mother had been
living for a good thirty years in the charcoal-burner's hut, and had
grown as accustomed to the sight of grimy faces as a miller's wife to
the flour-covered features of her husband, yet she was vain enough to
despise her former station from the very moment in which Peter showed
her the means to a more ostentatious way of life.

"Ah!" she said, "as the mother of the owner of a glass factory, my
position is very different from that of my neighbours, Greta and Beta;
in future I shall occupy a more prominent place in church, in a pew
where the better class people sit."

Her son soon came to an agreement with the owners of the glass-factory.
He kept on the old staff of workmen, and busied himself night and day
in the manufacture of glass. At first, he was very interested in the
work. It was his pleasure to go down to the glass-works, walking about
with a pompous air and with his hands in both pockets, up and down, in
and out, peeping in here, and peering in there, talking to this man,
and then to that one, often causing his work-people to laugh heartily
at his comments; while his chief delight was to watch the glass being
blown, frequently taking a hand himself in the work, forming from the
molten mass the most extraordinary patterns.

But too soon he began to weary of the business; at first, he was at the
factory for only one hour per day, then only every other day, and,
finally, only once a week, so that his workmen did just as they
pleased. And it was all the result of his visits to the tavern. On the
Sunday after his return from the Pine-grove, he went into the tavern,
and who should be footing it on the dancing floor but the Dance-King;
while Fat Ezekiel was already sitting behind a stoup of ale, throwing
dice for crown-thalers. At sight of the latter Peter thrust his hands
in his pockets to find out if the Glassmanikin had kept his word--and
behold! his pockets were stuffed full of gold and silver pieces.
Meanwhile, his legs were twitching and jerking as if they were itching
to be dancing; so when the first dance was over, he took up a position
with his partner exactly opposite the Dance-King. Whenever the latter
sprang three feet into the air, Peter leapt four; and if his rival
performed any particularly wonderful or graceful steps, Peter twirled
and twisted his feet so that all beholders were well nigh beside
themselves with delight and admiration. And when those at the dance
heard that Peter had bought a glass-factory, and when they saw how he
flung a small coin to the musicians every time he danced past them,
there was no limit to their astonishment. Some were of opinion that he
had discovered a treasure in the forest; others held that he must have
inherited a fortune; while all paid him honour, and thought him to be a
man of position, simply because he had money. He might gamble away
twenty guilders in an evening, yet his pockets rattled and jingled just
the same, as though they still contained hundreds of thalers. When
Peter saw how much he was respected, he did not know how to contain
himself, so great was his joy and pride. He threw money about by
handsful, and was particularly liberal to the poor, because he himself
knew what it was to feel the pinch of poverty. The supernatural ability
of the new dancer soon cast all the feats of the Dance-King into the
shade, and Peter was now hailed as "Dance-Emperor." The most
venturesome gamblers did not stake so recklessly as he did, and
therefore did not lose so heavily. But the more he lost, the more he
gained--which was quite in accordance with the promise he had obtained
from the Glassmanikin. He had wished always to have as much money in
his pockets as there was in Fat Ezekiel's, and it was to him he lost
most of his money. No matter whether he lost twenty or thirty guilders
on a single throw, there they were again in his pocket as soon as
Ezekiel had gathered them from the table.

[Illustration: Peter gambling at the Inn.]

But gradually he brought his debauchery and gambling to a degree worse
than that of the vilest character in the Black Forest; and he was
more often dubbed Gambling-Peter than Dance-Emperor, for he was at
the gambling table nearly the whole week through. Meanwhile his
glass-business was going rapidly to rack and ruin, and it was all due
to Peter's folly. He manufactured glass as fast as it could be made;
but with the glass-factory he had not bought the secret how to manage
it. In the end he had so much glass on hand that he did not know what
to do with it; and he was forced to sell it at half its value to
pedlars in order to find the money wherewith to pay his workpeople. One
evening while returning home from the tavern, despite all the wine he
had drunk to keep up his spirits, he could not help contemplating with
terror and grief the ruin of his fortunes. All at once he noticed that
somebody was walking at his side; he looked round, and behold--it was
the Glassmanikin. He flew at once into a furious passion, bewailing his
bad luck and cursing the little man as the cause of all his misfortune.
"What am I to do now with my horses and carts?" he said. "Of what use
to me is my factory and all my glass? Even when I was a miserable
charcoal-burner, I was happier, and did not have all these worries.
Now, I am expecting any day to see the bailiffs in my factory to sell
me up in order to pay my debts."

"So-ho?" rejoined the Glassmanikin. "So-ho? Then I am to be blamed for
your misfortunes? Is this your gratitude for all my kindness to you?
Did I not warn you not to make such foolish wishes. You wished to
become a glass-blower, without having the slightest idea how to sell
your glass. Did I not tell you not to wish too hastily? Common-sense,
Peter, Wisdom, that was what you lacked."

"Bother your Common-sense and Wisdom!" cried the other. "I am as clever
a fellow as anyone else--and what is more I will prove it to you,
Glassmanikin." Saying which he seized the little man by the collar, and
shouted: "Ha! I have you now. Guardian of the pine-tree wold! And now I
will make my third wish, which you will have to grant me. I demand,
without delay, on this very spot, two hundred thousand thalers, and a
house, and--oh-oh-ah!" he shrieked, wringing his hands, for the
Glassmanikin had turned into a mass of white-hot glass, burning Peter's
hand as if he had thrust it into fire; and in the same moment the
manikin vanished.

For several days afterwards Peter's scorched and swollen hand reminded
him of his ingratitude, and folly. But he soon turned a deaf ear to the
voice of conscience, consoling himself with the reflection: "What if
they do sell up my glass-factory and everything else. Fat Ezekiel is
still left to me! So long as he has money on Sundays, I shall not go
without."

Very good Peter! But supposing he should happen to have none at all,
for once?

And this is what actually came to pass. One Sunday, Peter drove to the
tavern, people observing him through their windows as he passed.

"There goes Gambling-Peter!" cried some; while others exclaimed:
"Hullo, there's the Dance-Emperor, the rich Glass-manufacturer." But a
few shook their heads, saying: "Don't be so sure about his wealth; why,
everybody is talking about his debts, and it is rumoured among the
townspeople that the bailiffs will soon be selling him up."

Meanwhile Peter bowed proudly and gravely to those he knew, and on
arriving at the tavern, alighted from his carriage, crying out: "Good
evening, landlord; has Fat Ezekiel yet arrived?" To which a deep voice
replied: "Just come in, Peter? Your place has been kept for you, and we
have got the cards out already."

Peter entered and got ready to play, well aware that Ezekiel must be
well supplied with funds, for his own pockets were stuffed full with
money.

Having taken his seat opposite the others he began playing, now
winning, and now losing; and they kept on until such a late hour that
all respectable people went off home. The lamps were lighted, and still
they played on, until two of the players said: "There, that's enough!
we must be getting home to wife and child."

But Gambling-Peter urged Fat Ezekiel to stay on. The latter was for a
time unwilling, but said at last: "Well, I will just count my money,
and then we will play at dice--and let the stake be five guilders, for
to throw for less is child's play."

He pulled out his purse and counted his money, of which he found he had
nearly a hundred guilders; whereby, Peter knew at once how much he
himself had in his pockets without being under the necessity of
reckoning.

But Ezekiel's luck had gone; exactly as he had been winning, hitherto,
he now lost steadily at every throw, cursing heartily the while. If he
threw a pair, Gambling-Peter followed with one, two pips higher. At
length he laid his last five guilders on the table, saying: "One more
throw, and if I lose, you can lend me some of your winnings, Peter, so
that we can continue, for every good sportsman ought to help another."

"As much as you like, even to a hundred guilders," said the
Dance-Emperor, rejoicing in his luck; whereupon Fat Ezekiel shook the
dice-box and threw "fifteen."

"Good," he cried, "now we shall see." Peter threw eighteen, and as he
looked he heard a harsh voice, not unknown to him, mutter in his ear:
"So, here we are at the end of it all!" He swung round. There, standing
directly behind him, towered the gigantic form of Dutch Michael.
Stricken with surprise and horror he let the money, which he had just
picked up from the table, slip through his fingers.

Fat Ezekiel apparently, had not noticed the demon, for he requested
Gambling-Peter to lend him ten guilders so that he could go on playing.
As one in a dream, Peter put his hand in his pocket--it was empty! He
tried another pocket--there was nothing in that, either. He took off
his coat and turned it upside down, shaking it--but not a single coin
showed itself. And now, for the first time he remembered his first
wish--to have always as much money in his pockets as Fat Ezekiel had in
his. But all had vanished like smoke.

[Illustration: "So! here we are at the end of it all."]

Meanwhile the landlord and Ezekiel sat staring at him in bewilderment,
as he searched himself all over in vain to find some money somewhere.
They refused to believe that he had none; and, at last, after they
themselves had felt in his pockets, they grew angry, vowing that
Gambling-Peter must be a magician who had transported all the money he
had won together with his own to his house. Peter defended himself as
best he could, but appearances were against him. Ezekiel vowed he would
spread the shameful story all over the Black Forest; and the landlord
declared he would go to town the first thing on the morrow, and
denounce Peter as a sorcerer, and he would see to it, he added, that he
was burnt at the stake as such. Whereupon they both fell on him in a
fury, tore his clothes from his back, and flung him out into the road.

It was pitch-dark, not a star appearing in the sky, as Peter slunk
homewards; but the misery which he suffered did not prevent him from
recognising a dark form which strode along at his side, and which broke
silence, at length, with the following words: "It is all up with you,
Peter Munk; all your glory has come to an end; as I would have told you
at first, if you had but listened to me instead of running off to that
stupid Glassmanikin. Now you can see for yourself what is to be gained
by despising my advice. Just try your luck with me for once, for I am
very sorry for you in your present miserable condition. Nobody who
comes to me ever repents having done so; and if you are not too afraid
to come, I shall be awaiting you all day in the Pine-grove and you have
only to call me, and I will come to you."

Peter knew well who it was thus addressing him. Seized with a sudden
dread, he made no reply, but sped onwards to his home.

                             END OF PART I.

                             THE COLD HEART

                                PART II

On the Monday morning when Peter arrived at his Glassworks, he found
not only his workpeople there, but also some very unwelcome visitors;
these were the Bailiff and three of his myrmidons. The Bailiff greeted
Peter with a "Good-morning," asked how he had slept, and then produced
a lengthy document on which appeared the names of Peter's creditors.

"Can you settle or not?" demanded the official, with a keen glance at
Peter. "And make haste, please, for I have very little time to spare,
as the tower-clock struck three some time ago."

Then Peter, in despair, had to confess that he had no more money in the
world, and made over to the Bailiff for appraisement all his property,
including factory, stock, stables, horses, wagons, etc.; and as the
official and his men went round making an inventory of everything, he
thought to himself: "The Pine-grove is not so far away; and as the
_Little One_ has not come to my aid, I'll try my luck with the _Big
One_." And straightway he set off running for the Pine-grove as fast as
if the officers of justice were at his heels.

As he passed the spot where he had first spoken to the Glassmanikin, he
felt as though an invisible hand had caught hold of him; but he
wrenched himself free, and ran on towards the ditch which, as he had
had occasion to remember marked the boundary of Dutch Michael's domain,
and no sooner did he spy it than he cried out with what breath he had
left in his lungs: "Dutch Michael! Master Dutch Michael!" and
immediately there stood before him the gigantic form of the raftsman,
pole in hand.

"So, you've come!" cried Michael, with a laugh. "Did they want to strip
the skin from your back in order to sell it for the benefit of your
creditors? Well, don't worry about it; as I have already told you, for
your troubles you have to thank that sanctimonious little hypocrite,
the Glassmanikin. When one gives at all, it should be with a lavish
hand, and not stingily as is that niggard's wont. But come," he
continued, turning towards the forest, "follow me to my house, and we
will see if we cannot strike a bargain."

"Strike a bargain?" thought Peter. "What can he get out of me? What
have I to offer him? Must I serve him in some way; or what else will he
require of me?"

At first, they climbed a steep incline which ended abruptly on the edge
of a dark, deep, precipitous ravine. Dutch Michael sprang down from
rock to rock as easily as down a broad staircase; and Peter nearly
fainted with terror when he perceived how the form of the demon, as
soon as the latter's foot had touched bottom, shot up to the height of
a church steeple. Then the monster stretched forth an arm as long as a
weaver's beam, and a hand as broad as a large table, crying out in a
deep voice that sounded like a death-knell: "Stand on my hand and take
hold of my fingers, so that you do not fall." Trembling all over, Peter
did as he was bid, sitting down on the palm and steadying himself by
grasping the gigantic thumb.

Deep down into the bowels of the earth he descended, but to Peter's
surprise it grew no darker; on the contrary, the daylight seemed to
become more and more intense in the ravine, until his eyes could
scarcely bear the glare of it.

As Peter descended, Dutch Michael gradually decreased in size until
when Peter had reached the ground the former had regained his normal
stature, and there they stood before a house similar in all respects to
those owned by well-to-do peasants in the Black Forest. The room, into
which Peter was conducted, differed in no particular from the rooms of
other Black Forest cottages, except that its appearance imparted a
feeling of loneliness. The wooden clock hanging on the wall, the huge
Dutch stove, the broad benches, the crockery arranged along the cornice
were just as one might see anywhere.

Michael bade Peter take a seat at the great table, and then left the
room, returning immediately with a jug of wine and glasses. He poured
out some for Peter and himself, after which they sat and talked, Dutch
Michael speaking of the joys of life, of foreign countries, of
beautiful cities and rivers, until Peter became possessed of a longing
to visit the same, and expressed his desire to the Dutchman.

[Illustration: And stretched forth an arm as long as a weaver's beam,
and a hand as broad as a large table.]

"But even if your whole frame were pulsating with the courage and
energy to undertake something of the sort, would not a few beats of
that foolish heart of yours set you all of a tremble at the prospect?
And why should a sensible fellow such as you be troubled with such
things as misfortune or wounded pride? The other day when they called
you a cheat and a villain, was it in your head that you felt the
disgrace? Did you get a pain in your stomach when the bailiff appeared
just now and turned you out of doors? Come, tell me, where did you feel
most anguish?"

"In my heart," Peter replied, pressing his hand on his throbbing
breast; for he felt that his heart was turning over and over in his
bosom.

"Now, don't be angry at what I am going to say--you have thrown away
many a hundred guilders to beggars and other worthless people; and what
profit has it brought you? They have showered blessings on your head,
and wished you good health; but did you ever feel any better for that?
Why, you could have kept a physician on half the money you thus wasted.
A blessing, indeed--a fine blessing, now that they have seized your
goods and turned you out! What was it that drove you to dive your hands
into your pockets every time a beggarman stretched out his tattered hat
to you?--Your heart it was, and always your heart; never your eyes, nor
your tongue, your arms, nor your legs,--but your heart; you have always
taken it too much to heart, as the saying is."

"But how can one manage to avoid it? I am trying all I can to suppress
it, but my heart keeps on thumping and causing me anguish."

"By yourself, poor wretch that you are, you can do nothing," cried the
other with a laugh; "but just let me take charge of the fluttering
thing, and you will see how much more pleasant it will be."

"Give you my heart?" shrieked the horrified Peter. "Why I should fall
down dead on the spot! Not if I can help it!"

"Of course, if one of your master surgeons were to remove your heart,
then you would die to a certainty; but with me it is quite another
matter. But just come in here and satisfy yourself."

Saying which, he opened a door leading into another room, and bade
Peter follow him. As the latter crossed the threshold his heart
contracted convulsively, but he did not notice it, for the sight which
now presented itself to him was too weird and amazing. On a number of
wooden shelves stood glass-vessels filled with some transparent fluid,
and in each of these was a human heart. Moreover, to every vessel was
affixed a label upon which a name had been inscribed, several of which
Peter's curiosity drove him to read. Here was the heart of the mayor of
a neighbouring town; there, that of Fat Ezekiel; in the next vessel lay
the heart of the Dance-King; further on, was the head-forester's heart.
Here were also six hearts of well-known corn-brokers, eight belonging
to conscription overseers, three to money lenders; in short, it was a
collection of hearts of the most respected people in the district for
twenty miles round.

"Look," said Dutch Michael, "all these people have shaken themselves
free from the cares and troubles of life! These hearts beat anxiously
and painfully no longer, and their original owners rejoice that they
have been able to rid themselves of such restless companions."

"But what do they carry in their breasts in place of these?" asked
Peter, who was quite faint with all that he had seen.

"This!" answered the other, as he took from a drawer _a heart of
stone_.

"What?" cried Peter, unable to repress a shudder which affected his
entire frame. "_A heart of marble?_ But, if it is as you say, Master
Dutch Michael, such a thing must feel very cold inside one's bosom."

"Not exactly cold, but quite pleasantly cool. Why should one's heart be
warm? It doesn't keep you warm in winter--a good glass of spirits is
far better for that purpose than a warm heart; while in summer, when it
is so hot and close, you cannot think how cooling is the effect of such
a heart as this. Besides which, as I have already told you, such a
heart as this never throbs with anguish or terror, with foolish
compassion or with any other emotion."

"And is that all that you have to give me?" asked Peter disappointedly.
"I hoped for money, and you offer me a stone!"

"Well, perhaps a hundred thousand guilders may satisfy you for a start.
If you went the right way to work, you would soon be a millionaire."

"A hundred thousand?" cried the poor charcoal-burner in an ecstasy.
"There, don't beat so violently in my breast, we shall soon have done
with one another. Good, Michael! give me the stone and the money, and
you may relieve this habitation of its restless inmate."

"Ah, I was sure that you were a sensible fellow!" answered the
Dutchman, smiling amiably. "Come, we will have just one more glass, and
then I will count out the money for you!"

Whereupon they returned to the other room, and sat down to their wine,
drinking glass after glass, until Peter fell into a deep sleep.

                           *   *   *   *   *

Charcoal-Peter was awakened by the joyous fanfare of a posthorn, and
behold he was sitting in a coach, which was bowling along a handsome
broad highway, and when he leaned out of the window he could see the
Black-Forest lying far behind him in the distance. At first he could
not believe that it was he himself who could be thus sitting in this
coach. His clothes were not the same that he had been wearing the day
before; yet he remembered everything that had happened so clearly, that
at last he doubted no longer, but cried out: "I am Charcoal-Peter,
that's certain--Charcoal-Peter Munk and no other!"

He fell to wondering why it was that he could feel no regret,
considering that, for the first time in his life, he had left the
peaceful homestead and the forest where he had lived so long. Even when
the thought of his mother occurred to him, helpless and wretched as she
must be now, no tear came to his eyes, not a sigh escaped him--he felt
so absolutely indifferent to everything. "Truly," he muttered, "tears
and sighs, homesickness and melancholy, all come from the heart; thanks
to Dutch Michael, mine is cold and made of stone."

He laid his hand on his breast; all was still within; there was no
movement whatever. "If he has kept his word as to the hundred thousand
guilders as he has with regard to my heart, I shall be quite content,"
he cried, beginning to examine everything in the coach. He found
wearing apparel in such quantity and of such variety as he could
possibly desire, but no money. At last he came upon a pocket in which
he found many thousands of thalers in gold, besides bills drawn on
business houses in all the great cities. "Now I have got what I want,"
he thought, and he settled himself comfortably in a corner of the
coach, as it drove onward into the wide world.

For two years Peter drove about everywhere, gazing to left and right
from his coach at the houses as he passed them, and at the signboards
of the inns at which he stopped, afterwards wandering about the towns,
where everything that was worthy of note was shown to him. But he
found pleasure in nought;--no picture, no building, no music, no
dance,--nothing could move his heart of stone; his eyes and ears could
no longer convey to him any sense of the beautiful. Nothing remained
for him but to take what joy he could in eating, drinking, and
sleeping; and thus he lived; travelling aimlessly about the world,
eating, drinking for his sole entertainment, and sleeping his only
escape from ennui. Now and then he would recollect how he had been
happier when he was poor and had to work for his living. Then every
beautiful vista over hill and vale had enchanted him, music and song
had always delighted him, and he had found lasting enjoyment in the
simple fare brought him by his mother as he sat by the charcoal pile.
And as he pondered on the fact, he thought it very strange that now he
could laugh at nothing, whereas, formerly, he had been wont to roar
over the smallest joke. Now, when others laughed, he, for politeness'
sake, distended his mouth, but there was no laughter in his heart. He
perceived then that this outward tranquility of his brought no
contentment. In the end it was not homesickness or melancholy which
drove him homeward, but a depressing sense of solitude and joylessness.

As he drove over from Strasburg and came within view of the dark forest
which was his home; when he saw for the first time since his departure
the powerful frames, the friendly, trusty faces of the Black Foresters;
as his ears caught the old familiar homely sounds, he put his hand to
his heart, for his pulse beat more quickly, and he was sure that in
another moment he must either rejoice or weep--but, how was it possible
for him to be so foolish; had he not a heart of stone?

His first visit was to Dutch Michael, who welcomed him with all his old
friendliness.

"Michael," he said to the latter, "I've been on my travels, and have
seen everything; but it is all trash and humbug, and has only succeeded
in boring me. Certainly, this stony thing of yours, which I bear in my
bosom, saves me from much. I am never angry, and never sorrowful; but
then I am never glad, and I feel as if I were only half alive. Cannot
you put a little life into this stone heart? or, better still, give me
back my old heart? It was my companion for five and twenty years, and
if at times it did play me a bad turn, yet on the whole it was a merry
and brave heart."

The forest spirit laughed grimly and bitterly.

"When you are dead, Peter Munk," he replied, "it will not fail you;
then, indeed, will that soft, emotional heart be yours once more, and
you will be able to feel whatever happens to you, joy or sorrow. But
here on this earth it can never return to you! Yes, Peter, you have
certainly been on your travels, but the way in which you lived was too
aimless to be of any use to you. Settle down somewhere in the forest,
build yourself a house, marry; set up in business--it is occupation of
which you are in need; you were bored because you were idle, and yet
you blamed it all upon this unoffending heart!"

Peter perceived that Michael was right in so far as his idleness was
concerned, and determined to amass riches for himself. Michael gave him
another hundred thousand guilders, and they parted good friends.

The story was soon spread throughout the Black-Forest that
Charcoal-Peter Munk, or Gambling-Peter, had returned, this time richer
than before. And it was the same as it is always: when he was reduced
to beggary, they had thrust him from the door in broad daylight; but
now, when he once more visited the inn one fine Sunday afternoon, they
held out their hands to him, praised his horse, asked him about his
travels, and when he sat down to play with Fat Ezekiel with thalers for
points, he stood as high in their esteem as ever. He no longer engaged
in glass-making, but in timber dealing, though this was merely a blind.
His real business was corn-selling and money-lending. By degrees nearly
half the Black Forest was in his debt; he lent money only at a
ruinously high rate of interest, and sold corn only to the poor, to
those who could not pay him cash down for it, at three times its value.
He and the bailiff were now on the friendliest terms, and when anybody
failed to pay Master Peter Munk to the very day, the bailiff and his
myrmidons rode over, made an inventory of all the debtor's belongings
and sold him up, driving father, mother and child out into the forest.
At first, these proceedings caused the wealthy Peter some trouble; for
the poor outcasts besieged his door, the men begging for time to pay,
while their wives sought to move his stony heart by drawing his
attention to their children, who were crying for bread. But after he
had provided himself with one or two big and savage dogs, there was
soon an end to these "cat's concerts," as he termed them. He had but to
whistle and call his dogs, and the beggars fled, crying and screaming,
in all directions.

His chief annoyance was the "old woman"--who was none other than Dame
Munk, his own mother. She had lived in misery and want from the day
when they had sold up her house and home; and now her son, though he
had come back rich, no longer took any notice of her. Yet she, old,
feeble and broken down, would come from time to time and stand, leaning
on her stick, in front of his house. She did not now dare to enter, for
he had once driven her out. But her greatest grief was that she was
compelled to accept the charity of others in order to live, though her
own son could have made her old age happy and free from care. But the
cold heart was never touched at the sight of those pale well-known
features, by their pleading expression, by the withered outstretched
hand, by the frail and tottering form. When she knocked at the door on
Saturdays he would draw sixpence from his pocket, grumbling the while,
wrap it up in a piece of paper, and send a servant out to her with it.
He caught the sound of her quavering voice as she spoke her thanks and
wished him well on this earth; he heard her pant as she shuffled away
from his door; then he thought no more of her except to regret that
another sixpence had been so profitlessly expended.

At length Peter determined to marry. He knew well that any father in
the Black Forest would be glad to let him wed his daughter; but he took
pains over his choice, for he wanted everybody to praise his good luck
and sense even in this matter. Wherefore he rode about on a round of
inspection, visiting several houses in all parts of the forest; but
none of the pretty Black Forest maidens seemed to be beautiful enough
for him. At last, after having vainly attended all the dance-meetings
in his search for a beautiful damsel, he heard one day that the
loveliest and most virtuous of all the girls in the forest was the
daughter of a poor woodcutter.

She lived quietly and alone, keeping house for her father, was clever
and diligent, and never attended a dance, not even at Whitsuntide nor
on Dedication Day. When Peter learnt of this jewel of the Black Forest,
he resolved to marry her, and rode to the cottage which had been
pointed out to him. The father of the lovely girl, whose name was
Elspeth, received his distinguished visitor with surprise, but was even
more astonished when he discovered that this was the wealthy Peter, and
that he was anxious to become his son-in-law. He was not long making up
his mind, for he considered that now there would be an end to all his
troubles and poverty; therefore, without consulting Elspeth, he gave
his consent; and the good child was so obedient that she became Dame
Peter Munk without a murmur of dissent.

But it did not turn out so well for the poor girl as she had expected.
She thought she knew how to keep house, but in nothing could she please
Master Peter. She was sorry for poor people, and as her husband was a
rich man, she considered it no crime to give a penny to a beggar-woman,
or to offer an old man a "schnaps." But one day Master Peter, who had
been watching her, spoke to her roughly and angrily: "Why are you
wasting my fortune on rascals and vagabonds? Did you bring anything
with you into the house that you might give away? In your father's
house there was not enough broth to go round, and yet you are now
throwing money about as if you were a princess! Let me catch you once
more, and you shall feel the weight of my hand."

The lovely Elspeth wept in her room over her husband's ill-nature, and
she often wished she were back again in her father's mean cottage
instead of having to live in the house of the rich, avaricious and
hard-hearted Peter. Even had she known that he had a heart of marble,
and could never love anybody, not even herself, she would not have been
so greatly surprised. Whenever she sat in the porch and a beggar passed
by, taking off his hat and asking for alms, she shut her eyes in order
not to see his wretchedness; she clenched her fist as if to keep her
hand from straying against her will into her pocket in order to bestow
a farthing or so. And so it came about that people throughout the
forest began to speak despitefully of the beautiful Elspeth, saying
that she was even more miserly than Peter Munk.

But one day Elspeth was sitting in front of the house, spinning and
humming a little song, for she was in good spirits, the day was fine,
and her husband, Peter, had ridden away across the country. And as she
sat there, there came along the road a little old man, who was carrying
a great heavy sack, and she could hear him panting from a long way off.
Dame Elspeth regarded him sympathetically, thinking the while that such
a little old man should not have to carry so heavy a burden.

Meanwhile the little man, panting and staggering, drew near, and as he
passed Elspeth, he nearly broke down under the weight of the sack. "Ah,
have mercy, good lady, and give me a drink of water!" said the little
man; "I can go no further, and feel ready to perish."

"But at your age you ought not to carry such a heavy load," said
Elspeth.

[Illustration: Oh, have mercy, good lady and give a drink of water.]

"But I must run errands; I am so poor, and I have to earn my living
somehow," he replied. "Surely so rich a lady as yourself can never know
how hard it is to be poor, and how welcome would be a fresh drink on
such a hot day."

Hearing this, she hurried indoors, took down a jug and filled it with
water; but as she was returning, and was only a few paces away from
him, she noticed how wretched and miserable the little man looked, and
how he had sunk in exhaustion on his sack. This filled her with pity
for him, and, the thought occurring to her that her husband was not at
home, she put down the jug of water, took a goblet and filled it with
wine, and carried it, with a loaf of good rye-bread, out to the old
man. "There!" she said, "as you are so very old a draught of wine will
do you much more good than water. But don't drink it so quickly, and
eat a little of the bread with it."

The little man looked at her in astonishment, then great tears gathered
in his eyes, and he spoke: "I am very old, but I have seen few people
who were so compassionate and who have known so well how to dispense
charity as you, Dame Elspeth. And therefore it will go well with you on
this earth, such a heart as yours shall not lack its reward."

"Nay, and her reward she shall have on this very spot," cried a
terrible voice. Both turned, and there stood Peter, his face crimson
with rage.

"Not only do you offer my best wine to beggars, but you bring it out in
my own goblet so that it may be contaminated by the lips of vagabonds!
There--take your reward!" Elspeth fell at his feet, imploring pardon;
but the stony heart knew no mercy; he swung the whip which he held in
his hand, and with the ebony handle of it struck the beautiful forehead
uplifted to him. Elspeth sank lifeless into the old man's arms.

When he saw her fall, Peter bent over her to see if she still lived. It
was as if he repented the deed for a moment. And as he looked, the
little man spoke to him in a well-known voice: "Don't trouble yourself,
Charcoal-Peter; this was the most beautiful and most lovable flower in
the forest; you have struck it down, and it will never bloom again."

All the blood left Peter's face as he replied: "So, it is you, Master
Guardian? Well, what has been done cannot be undone, and it was bound
to happen thus. But I hope you won't accuse me before the justices as a
murderer."

"Wretch!" answered the Glassmanikin. "What profit could it be to me to
bring your mortal body to the gallows? It is no earthly judge that you
have to fear, but another and sterner Judge; for you have sold your
soul to the Evil One."

"And if I have sold my heart," shrieked Peter, "then nobody is to blame
but yourself and your illusory gifts. Malicious spirit that you are,
you led me on to my destruction; it was you who drove me to seek help
of that other, and you will have to answer for it."

But scarcely had he uttered these words than the Glassmanikin suddenly
began to increase in size and stature, his eyes became as big as
soup-plates, and his mouth was as a glowing furnace, flames darting
from between his lips. Peter sank to his knees, and even his
stone-heart did not prevent his limbs from trembling like an aspen.
With vulture-like claws the forest spirit seized Peter by the neck,
swung him round like dried leaves in a whirlwind, and flung him to
earth with such force that all his ribs cracked.

"Earth-worm!" cried the spirit in a voice that rolled like thunder; "I
could smash you to atoms if I would, for you have blasphemed against
the lord of the forest. But for this dead woman's sake, who gave me
food and drink, I give you eight days' grace. If you do not repent I
will come and crush your bones to powder, and send you hence in your
sins."

It was not until nightfall that some men, who happened to be passing
that way, spied the wealthy Peter Munk lying stretched on the ground.
They turned him over, seeking to discover if he yet lived; and for a
long time he gave no sign. At last, one of them went to a house and
fetched some water. After they had dashed some in his face, Peter drew
a deep breath, groaned and opened his eyes. He gazed about him, and
then asked for his wife, Elspeth; but no one had seen her. He thanked
the men for their assistance, rose and crept into his house, where he
hunted high and low for Elspeth, but without finding her; and he now
knew that what he had hoped had been only a terrible dream was a grim
reality. In his loneliness strange thoughts occurred to him. He feared
nothing, for his heart was insensible to that emotion; but whenever he
thought of his wife's death, he could not help but contemplate his own
probable destiny; when his hour arrived to quit the world, how heavily
laden he would be with the tears and curses of the poor who could not
soften his heart, with the wails of those wretched beings at whom
he had set his dogs, and, yet more, how he would have to bear the
weight of his mother's silent despair, and the blood of his good and
beautiful wife. And what sort of answer would he give the old man,
his father-in-law, if he should come and demand: "Where is my
daughter, your wife?" And how should he answer Another, to Whom all
belongs--woods, seas, hills and the lives of human beings?

[Illustration: "His eyes became as big as soup plates and his mouth as
a glowing furnace."]

The thought of it haunted his dreams; and every now and then he was
awakened by the sound of a sweet voice calling to him: "Peter, get
yourself a warmer heart!" And when thus awakened, he would quickly
close his eyes again, for the voice was that of Elspeth, warning him.
In order to distract his thoughts he sought the tavern, and there he
met Fat Ezekiel. He took a seat opposite him, and they started talking
on various topics: the fine weather, the war, the taxes, and at last
about death and what happened afterwards. Ezekiel replied that the body
is buried while the soul ascends to Heaven or descends to Hell.

"Then they bury one's heart with one?" asked Peter with intense
interest.

"Certainly, that's buried with us."

"But if a man has no heart?" Peter went on. Ezekiel stared at him in
terror. "What do you mean by that? Are you trying to make a fool of me?
Do you suggest that I have no heart?"

"Oh, you have a heart right enough--as hard as stone," replied Peter.

Ezekiel looked at him in amazement, then glanced around to make sure
nobody was within earshot, and spoke: "How do you know that? Perhaps,
your own heart beats no longer?"

"It beats no more;--at least, not here in my breast," answered Peter.
"But tell me, now you know what I mean, what will happen to our
hearts?"

"My dear fellow, why worry about it?" Ezekiel laughingly remonstrated.
"You have plenty to go through this life with, and that is all one
wants. That is just the comfort of having a cold heart; we can never
feel any fear at such thoughts."

"That's true enough; but one cannot help thinking of such things, even
though one feels no dread of them; and I can well remember how terribly
afraid of Hell I used to be when I was a little innocent boy."

"Well--it is certain that it will not go well with us hereafter," said
Ezekiel. "I once asked a schoolmaster about it, and he told me that,
after death, our hearts are weighed to find out how much they are
burdened with sins committed. The light ones mount upwards; the heavy
ones sink downwards; and our stone hearts will weigh a good bit, I'm
thinking."

"That's very probable," replied Peter; "and I often feel very uneasy
that my heart is so indifferent and unfeeling whenever such thoughts
occur to me."

The night following this conversation Peter heard the well-known voice
whisper five or six times in his ear: "Peter! get yourself a warmer
heart!"

Although he felt no remorse that he had killed her, yet when he told
his servants that his wife had gone on a journey, he could not help
thinking: "Ah, but whither has she gone?"

Six days passed in this manner; every night he heard the voice, while
the little forest-spirit's terrible threat rang continually in his
ears. On the seventh morning he sprang out of bed, crying: "Come, I
will see if I can get a warmer heart, for this insensible stone in my
breast makes life too wearisome and dull for anything!"

He put on his best clothes, mounted his horse and rode off to the
Pine-grove.

Having arrived at the spot where the pines grew thickest, he
dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and then strode swiftly to the
summit of the hill, and taking his stand before the great pine, he
repeated the old rhyme:

     "Guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold.
      Art many hundred ages old;
      Lord of all lands where pine trees grow,
      Thee only Sunday's children know."

And then the Glassmanikin appeared, but not friendly and cordial as
before, but sad and mournful. He was clad in a little coat of black
glass, and a long mourning band trailed from his hat; and Peter knew
well enough for whom he mourned.

"What do you want with me, Peter Munk?" he asked in a hollow voice.

"I have still one wish left, Master Guardian," replied Peter, casting
down his eyes.

"Can stone-hearts wish for anything?" said the other. "You have
everything that your evil mind desired; and I shall be very reluctant
to grant you anything."

"But you promised me three wishes; and one of them still remains to
me."

"But I can reject it, if it is foolish," the forest spirit replied.
"Yet, speak out, I will listen to what you have to say."

"Then take this dead stone away, and give me my living heart," said
Peter.

"Did I make the bargain with you?" the Glassmanikin demanded. "Am I
Dutch Michael, who gives away riches and cold hearts? To him you must
go if you want your own heart again."

"Alas, he will never give it back to me," answered Peter, dejectedly.

"I am sorry for you, bad as you are," said the little man, after a
moment's reflection. "And as your wish is not a foolish one, I can at
least, not refuse to help you. Listen, therefore. By force you can
never regain possession of your heart, but you can do so by cunning;
and by such means you may achieve your purpose without much difficulty;
for Michael is still the stupid Michael, although he deems himself so
clever. Go straight to him, therefore, and do exactly as I tell you!"
Saying which, he gave him full instructions how to proceed, and handed
him a little cross of transparent glass. "He cannot take your life, and
if you hold this up in front of him, saying your prayers meanwhile, he
will have to let you go unharmed. And if you succeed in obtaining that
which you go for, return to me here immediately."

Peter Munk took the little cross, and trying to remember all that he
had been told to do, he proceeded to Dutch Michael's abode. Having
called him thrice by name, the giant stood before him.

"And so you have slain your wife?" asked the Dutchman, laughing
horribly. "I should have done the same, for she was squandering all
your fortune on beggars. But you must leave the country for a time, for
there will be trouble when they find she is missing; and you want
money, of course, and have come to me for some?"

"You have guessed aright!" replied Peter; "and a substantial sum this
time, for it is a long way to America."

Michael led the way to his cottage, where he opened a desk in which lay
a store of money, and took therefrom a roll of gold coins. As he was
counting them out on the table, Peter said to him: "You are a miserable
cheat, Michael, to have deceived me as you did, trying to make me
believe that I had a stone in my breast and that you had my heart."

Michael stared at him perplexedly. "And is it not so?" he asked. "Can
you feel your heart? Is it not as cold as ice? Do you know what it is
to be afraid, or sorry, or remorseful?"

"You have only made my heart stop still; but it is still here in my
breast; and Ezekiel, also, agrees with me that you have imposed on
both of us. You are not the sort of man who could tear anybody's heart
out of their breast without their knowledge, or without danger to
them--that would be witchcraft indeed!"

"But I assure you," cried Michael angrily, "you and Ezekiel and all
those who came to me and are now rich have cold hearts in their bosoms
just as you have, and their own hearts I have here in my keeping."

"Ah; how glibly the lies slip off your tongue," laughed Peter. "You may
tell that story to other people. Do you think I did not come across
dozens of such conjuring tricks when on my travels? The hearts here in
this room are made of wax. You are a wealthy fellow--I will concede so
much, but you are a fool at magic."

The giant flew into a rage, and, flinging open the door to the inner
room, he cried: "Come in here and read all the labels, especially that
one there; look, that is Peter Munk's heart. See how it beats! Do you
think it is possible to make such a thing as that out of wax?"

"And yet it is wax," answered Peter. "A real heart would not beat thus;
and mine is here in my breast. No, no, you are no good at magic."

"But I will prove it to you!" cried Michael, angrily. "You shall feel
for yourself that it is your own heart." He took up the heart, tore
Peter's jerkin open, and drew from his breast a stone which he held
before him; then he breathed on the heart carefully and put it back in
its original place; and as Peter felt the old familiar beat of it, he
rejoiced, that it was possible to him once more.

"How do you feel now?" asked Michael, smiling.

"Well, I must confess you were right after all," answered Peter,
feeling carefully in his pocket for the little cross. "I could not have
believed that anybody could do such things."

"Well, it's possible, anyway! And I can work magic, as you see. But
come, I will now replace the stone."

[Illustration: "And, as he prayed, Michael decreased more and more in
size, falling to the ground, where he lay writhing to and fro like a
worm."]

"Gently, Master Michael!" cried Peter, retreating a step and holding up
the cross in front of him. "I laid the trap for _you_ this time, and you
have fallen into it!" And straightway he began to pray, saying whatever
came to his mind. And as he prayed, Michael decreased more and more in
size, falling to the ground, where he lay writhing to and fro like a
worm, groaning and moaning; and all the hearts on the surrounding
shelves began to beat and throb until the place sounded as it might
have been a clockmaker's workshop. Then Peter's courage left him; he
rushed from the room and out of the house, and, goaded on by terror,
began to clamber up the rocky precipice; and as he climbed he heard
Michael stamping and clattering and roaring out the most terrible
curses, as he rose from the ground to follow him. Having succeeded in
surmounting the cliff, Peter set out to run to the Pine-grove; and at
the same time a most frightful storm broke out; lightning flashes fell
to right and left of him, creating havoc among the trees. But Peter
reached the Glassmanikin's domain in safety.

His heart beat joyfully in his breast; but only because it _did_ beat.
Then all his past life flashed before him, as horrible as the storm
which was laying waste the forest on all sides behind him. He thought
of Elspeth, his lovely, gentle wife, whom in his avaricious rage he had
murdered; he saw himself as an outcast from society, and he burst into
tears as he stood before the mount on which the Glassmanikin had sat.

And there was the Guardian of the Pine-forest, sitting under a pine and
smoking a little pipe; but he looked more cheerful now. "Why are you
weeping, Charcoal-Peter?" he asked. "Have you your own heart again, or
is the cold stone still in your breast?"

"Ah, Master Guardian!" sobbed Peter; "when I had that cold stone heart
I could not weep, my eyes were as dry as the country in July; and now
this real heart of mine is like to break with grief at my misdeeds! I
drove my debtors to ruin; I set my dogs at the poor and sick, and, you
yourself saw how with my whip I struck the fair forehead of Elspeth!"

"Peter! you were a great sinner!" said the manikin. "Money and idleness
were your undoing, until your heart was turned to stone, knowing
neither joy, nor sorrow, nor remorse, nor compassion. But repentance
atones for much; and if I were only sure that you truly repent for your
past life, I could do something for you even now."

"I want nothing now," answered Peter, sadly, while his head drooped on
his bosom. "I have nothing left to live for; I could never be happy
again; besides what is there for me to do now that I am left alone in
the world? My mother will never forgive my conduct towards her; and,
perhaps, monster that I am, I have already sent her to her grave. And
Elspeth, my wife! Slay me also, Master Guardian, and then there will be
an end at least of my wretched life."

"Good!" replied the Glassmanikin, "If that is your only wish, I can not
refuse to grant it; and my axe is here to my hand."

Calmly he withdrew his little pipe from his mouth, knocked out the
ashes and pocketed it. Then, slowly, he arose and went behind the
pine-trees. Peter threw himself down weeping, on the grass; he had
nothing more to do with this life but to await patiently the death-blow
that should end it. After a while he heard light footsteps approaching,
and thought: "Now he is coming."

[Illustration: "Look once more around, Peter Munk."]

"Look once more around, Peter Munk!" said the voice of the Manikin. He
brushed the tears from his eyes, and looked up,--and there before him
stood his mother and Elspeth, his wife, smiling kindly at him.

He sprang joyfully to his feet: "You are not dead, Elspeth! And you,
mother!--Ah, how can you ever pardon me?"

"They will pardon you," said the Glassmanikin, "because you have truly
repented, and they will forget everything. Return to your father's
cottage, a charcoal-burner as before. If you are good and honest, you
will do honour to your trade, and your neighbours will love and respect
you more than if you were the possessor of ten tons of gold."

Thus spoke the Glassmanikin, and bade them farewell.

The three praised and blessed him, and set out for home together.

The grand house which had belonged to Peter in his days of splendour
was no longer there; it had been struck by lightning and had been burnt
to the ground with all its treasures; but the cottage which had been
his father's home was not far distant; thither they went their way,
quite unmoved by their heavy loss.

But what a surprise was in store for them when they reached the
cottage. It had been changed into a fine farmhouse, and everything
within, though simple, was good and clean.

"The good Glassmanikin has done all this!" cried Peter.

"How lovely!" exclaimed Elspeth. "I shall feel much more at home here
than in that big house with all those servants."

Thenceforth Peter Munk became a hard-working and noble man. He was
content with his lot, and worked at his trade without murmuring; and
thus it came that by his own efforts he made money, and earned the love
and respect of all in the forest. He never spoke another harsh word to
his wife Elspeth, he honoured his mother, and relieved all the poor who
knocked at his door.

One year after, when his wife bore him a beautiful boy, Peter set out
for the Pine-grove and repeated the old rhyme. But no Glassmanikin
showed himself.

"Master Guardian!" he shouted. "Do listen to me! I don't want anything,
but have come to ask you to be godfather to my little son."

But there was no answer; nothing but a light breath of wind which
rustled through the pines, causing a few pinecones to fall at his feet.

"Well, I will take these with me in remembrance, as you will not show
yourself," cried Peter, putting the cones in his pocket, and turning
homewards. But when he took off his jerkin, and his mother turned the
pockets inside out before putting the jerkin away, there fell on the
floor four bulky packets of money, which, when opened, were seen to
contain nothing but bright new Baden thalers, with not a single bad one
among them. And this was the manikin's present, as sponsor, to his
little godchild, Peterkin.

Thus they lived on in peace and contentment, and Peter would often say
then, and in after years when a grey-haired old man: "It is better to be
content with a little, than to be possessed of wealth and _a cold
heart_!"

                           *   *   *   *   *
    Printed by Ebenezer Baylis & Son, Trinity Works, Worcester.

The Marvellous History of the Shadowless Man, and The Cold Heart