Chapter V (5)

On the little one’s third birthday the Count ordered him to wear his first pair of breeches, and had him clothed in velvet and silk, and very pretty he looked. Then he ordered his own and a second very fine spirited horse to be brought to the gateway and, taking the child on his arm, began to descend the steep staircase, his spurs rattling and clanging as he went. The Lady Hedwig made it a rule never to enquire where he was going or when he was returning when he rode out, but now her anxiety for her child urged her to.

“Are you going riding?” The Count did not answer, so she said: “Why are you taking the little one with you? Cuno is going for a walk with me.”

“Rubbish,” said the Count, and went on down the steps until he reached the courtyard. Then he put the child upon the horse’s back and tied him firmly on with a broad scarf, flung himself upon his own steed and trotted out of the castle gates, taking the reins of the little boy’s horse in his own hands. At first the little one seemed to enjoy riding down the hill with his father. He clapped his hands and laughed and shook his horse’s mane to make it go faster, and the Count was pleased and said once or twice: “You will be a brave fellow some of these fine days.”

But when the plain was reached and, instead of a trot, the Count changed the horse’s pace to a gallop, the child was nervous. First he begged his father to go slower, but instead of that the pace was increased. The strong wind took poor Cuno’s breath away and he began to cry softly. Faster and faster they went, and then the boy screamed at the top of his voice.

“Nonsense, nonsense, stop that screaming,” began Stormy Weather Zollern; but at that moment his own horse shied, and the reins of the child’s steed slipped from his grasp. It took some moments to regain the mastery of his horse, and when he had done this he saw to his consternation that the boy’s horse was riderless and was galloping back towards the castle.

Although such a hard surly man, his heart failed him at this sight, for he believed nothing less than that his child lay crushed upon the roadside. He tore his beard and made great lament.

He rode back, but could see no trace of the boy, and was beginning to think that the restive animal had flung him into a ditch, when suddenly he heard a child’s voice calling him. He turned quickly, and there, not far from the roadside, an old woman sat beneath a tree and rocked the little one upon her knees.

“How do you come to have the boy, you old witch?” cried Stormy Weather angrily. “Bring him here to me immediately!”

“Not so fast, not so fast, my lord Count,” said the old woman, “or you, too, may come to grief on your fine horse. You ask me how I come to hold the child in my arms! Well, his horse threw him and he was hanging, bound by one little foot, his hair sweeping the dust, when I caught him in my apron.”

“Oh! Rubbish,” said the Count ill-humouredly. “Give him to me, for I cannot dismount, the horse is restive and might kick him.”

“Give me a florin then?” begged the old woman.

“Rubbish!” cried the Count and threw her a few coppers.

“No, no,” said the old woman, “give me a florin.”

“A florin indeed, you’re not worth one,” answered the Count. “Give me the child quickly, or I will set my dog on you.”

“Ah! so I’m not worth a florin?” she said with a scornful smile. “Well, we shall see some day if your inheritance will be worth so much as a florin. Here, take your coppers, you can keep them.” As she spoke she threw the coppers towards the Count, and so straight was her aim that they fell, one by one, into the leathern purse the Count still held in his hand.

The Count was unable to speak for some minutes, so astounded was he at the old woman’s dexterity. Then his surprise changed to anger. He raised his gun and levelled it at her, but she kissed and caressed the little Count, holding him before her, so that the bullet would have struck him first.

“You are a good honest little lad,” she said. “Remain so all your life and you will have all you wish for.” Then she released him and, shaking her finger threateningly at the Count, cried--“Zollern, Zollern, you still owe me the florin.” Then she turned away heedless of the Count’s angry words, and, leaning on her staff, disappeared in the wood.

Conrad, the Count’s groom, dismounted, and, taking the little boy in his arms, set him on his saddle and then mounted behind him and rode after his master up the steep hill to the castle.

This was the first and last time that Stormy Weather Zollern took his little son riding, for he considered him effeminate and faint-hearted because he had cried when the horse galloped, and decided that he would never be worth anything. He looked at him with displeasure and whenever the little one came to him and wished to sit upon his knee and be caressed he would push him away and say harshly: “Rubbish--get away!”

The Lady Hedwig had borne her husband’s ill-temper without a murmur, but his harsh treatment of his innocent child wounded her deeply. She fretted and fretted, for whenever the boy committed some trifling offence he was punished so severely that she was afraid for him, and at length it preyed upon her mind so much that she fell ill and died. She was mourned by the whole household and by everyone in the neighbourhood, though most deeply by her son.

From this time the Count took no further notice of his son, but left him entirely to the care of his nurse and the old chaplain. Shortly afterwards he married again, a young and rich lady, and as she had twin sons the Count consoled himself with them.

Cuno’s favourite walk was to visit the old woman who had once saved his life. She told him all about his dead mother, and how much good she had done in her lifetime. The maids and men-servants warned him repeatedly not to go so often to see her, assuring him that she was nothing more nor less than a witch. But the boy was not afraid, for the chaplain had taught him that there were no such people as witches and that the stories about them riding on broomsticks through the air were all nonsense.

It is true he saw at the old woman’s hut all sorts of strange things which he could not understand, and he still remembered the trick with the copper coins which she had played on his father. Then she knew how to mix all sorts of ointments and draughts with which to heal both man and beast; but it was certainly not true, as some folks declared, that she had a weather-glass, and when she hung it over the fire there was a fearful thunderstorm. She taught the young Count a good deal that was useful to him, for instance, all sorts of remedies for sick horses and cattle, how to mix a bait to lure the fishes, and many other useful things. The old woman was almost his sole companion, for his nurse died and his stepmother never troubled about him at all.

By-and-by, as his brothers grew up, his life was even sadder than before, for the twins were so fortunate as to keep their seats at their first ride, and Stormy Weather Zollern thought them clever manly fellows and loved them accordingly, and rode out with them every day and taught them everything he knew himself. But they did not learn much good; the Count could neither read nor write and he would not allow his sons to waste time over such things.

By the time they were ten years old they were as wild and quarrelsome as their father and led a cat-and-dog life between themselves.

It was only when they wanted to play some unkind trick on Cuno that they were united.

Their mother did not interfere, she thought it manly for them to fight one another. One day an old servant spoke to the Count about the way the two boys fought and quarrelled, and although he only said: “Rubbish!” he bore it in remembrance, and thought out a means to prevent their killing one another as they grew older and fiercer, for the witch’s warning still rang in his ears: “We shall see if your inheritance will be worth a florin.”

One day when he was out hunting he noticed two hills which seemed to him to have been specially formed as the site of two castles, and made up his mind to build one on each. And so he did, and named the castles one Schalksberg, and the other Hirschberg. Stormy Weather Zollern intended leaving the castle of Hohenzollern to his eldest son and the other two castles to the two younger ones, but his wife never rested until she made him alter his mind.

“Stupid Cuno,” this was what she always called the poor boy, “stupid Cuno is rich enough as it is with what he inherited from his mother, and yet you would give him the beautiful castle of Hohenzollern, and my sons are only to have a castle with nothing but woods attached.”

In vain the Count pointed out to her that Cuno could not be so easily deprived of his birthright; she wept and scolded until even Stormy Weather, who was generally so stubborn, gave in for the sake of peace, and made a will leaving Schalksberg to Schalk, the younger of the twins, and Hohenzollern to Wolf, the elder, whilst Hirschberg, together with the little town of Balingen, were given to Cuno.

Soon afterwards he fell very ill. The doctor warned him of his approaching end and so did the chaplain, the latter bidding him prepare to face death, but he only growled out:--“Rubbish!” and so died as he had lived, a wild, fierce-tempered man.

Scarcely had he been laid in his grave than the Countess brought the will to Cuno and told him mockingly that, since he was so learned, he might read it and see for himself that he had no longer any interest in Hohenzollern, and she rejoiced with her two sons over the fact that they had deprived Cuno of his inheritance.

Cuno did not attempt to dispute the will, but took leave of the castle with tears in his eyes, for not only had he been born there, but his dear mother lay buried there, and his good old friend the chaplain lived there, whilst his only other friend lived close by. The Castle of Hirschberg was a fine stately castle, but very lonesome and desolate, and he suffered terribly from home-sickness and for longing after his beautiful birthplace.

The Countess and the twin brothers, who were now eighteen years of age, were sitting one evening, gazing down upon the road that led to the castle of Hirschberg, when they saw a stately knight approaching on horseback. He was followed by a litter, borne by two mules and accompanied by many attendants. For a long time they could not think who was coming to visit them, but at length Schalk cried: “It is only our brother from Hirschberg.”

“What! Stupid Cuno?” asked the Countess in surprise. “He is evidently going to honour us with an invitation to pay him a visit. The litter he has no doubt brought for me, to carry me up to the Castle of Hirschberg. Well, I would not have credited him with so much good feeling. One act of politeness deserves another, so we will go down to the castle gates and meet him. Now be sure you look pleasant and receive him kindly; probably when we reach Hirschberg he will make us a present each. He will give you a horse possibly, you a suit of armour, and as for me I have long wanted his mother’s jewels.”

“I will accept nothing from Stupid Cuno,” said Wolf, “and I shall certainly not make him welcome: as far as I am concerned, the sooner he follows my father the better pleased I shall be; we shall then inherit the Castle of Hirschberg, and Schalk and I will sell you the jewels at a cheap rate.”

“Indeed, you rascal,” scolded his mother, “and so I am to buy the jewels of you, eh? Is that your thanks to me for having procured the Castle of Zollern for you? Schalk, my son, you would give me the jewels without payment, would you not?”

“Death is the only thing to be had without payment,” joked her son, laughing, “and if it is true the jewels are worth a king’s ransom we should be foolish indeed to hang them round your neck for nothing. As soon as Cuno dies we shall ride over to Hirschberg and divide his property. The jewels we shall sell, and if you give a higher price than anyone else you can have them.”

As they talked they had approached the castle gate, and the Countess was forced to suppress her anger, for Cuno was now riding over the drawbridge.

When he became aware of his stepmother and his brothers he reined in his horse, dismounted, and greeted them politely, for although they had done him so much harm he would not allow himself to forget that they were his brothers and she his father’s widow.

“We are indeed pleased that you should visit us, my son,” said the Countess in honied tones, and with a caressing smile. “And how is everything at Hirschberg? Do you grow more accustomed to the place? I see you have brought a litter. What a splendid one! An empress need not blush to ride in it. I expect it will not be long before there is a Mistress to ride about in it.”

“I have not yet thought of marriage, my gracious lady mother,” replied Cuno, “and therefore I am here to fetch someone to keep me company at home, and I have brought the litter on that account.”

“You are very thoughtful and kind,” the lady interrupted him.

“He cannot very well mount a horse now,” Cuno continued quietly. “It is Father Joseph, the chaplain, that I have come for. I am going to take him with me, for he was my tutor, and we settled it should be so before I left Hohenzollern. Then I intend taking with me the old woman who lives at the foot of the hill. She is very old now and it was she who saved my life the first time I went out to ride with my father. There are rooms to spare in Hirschberg, and there she shall spend her last days.”

So saying, he passed through the courtyard and entered the castle to fetch the old chaplain. Wolf bit his lips with anger, the Countess was white with rage, but Schalk laughed out loud: “What will you give me for the horse he was to present to me?” he cried. “Brother Wolf, shall I exchange it for your suit of armour? Ha! ha! ha! so he is going to take the old chaplain and the witch to keep him company. What a fine pair to be sure! In the morning he can amuse himself by taking lessons in Greek, and in the afternoon he can study witchcraft. Stupid Cuno is without doubt a comical fellow.”

“He is a very low fellow,” said the Countess, “and you should be ashamed to laugh at him. It is a disgrace to the family, and we shall be shamed in the eyes of the whole neighbourhood when it becomes known that the Count has taken the old witch to live with him, and carried her off in a magnificent litter drawn by mules. He has inherited his tastes from his mother, she was always mixing herself up with sick folks and common people. What would his father say?”

“His father would just say ‘Rubbish,’” said Schalk, laughing.

“Here he comes,” said the Countess, “he is not ashamed to give the old man his arm, just as though he were his equal. I will not meet him again.”

So the mother and her two sons did not wait to bid Cuno good-bye, but he just led his old friend gently across the bridge and placed him in the litter. When he came to the foot of the hill he stopped in front of the old woman’s hut, and found her quite ready to accompany him. She had a large bundle of little glass pots, and little bottles with medicine in them, and she stood leaning upon her staff waiting for Cuno.

Things did not turn out as the Countess had supposed they would, for instead of laughing at him everyone praised Cuno for his kindness in caring for the last days of the poor old woman, and his pious affection for the old priest, Father Joseph.

The only persons who found fault with him were the Countess and his two brothers, and, as everyone knew how disagreeable and quarrelsome they were, no one paid any heed to the unkind things they said.

They passed Cuno by as though he were a stranger, and this treatment hurt the young man very much, for he thought it wrong that three brothers should be at enmity with one another, and so he hit upon a plan which he thought might help to make them all better friends.

Between the three estates of the three brothers there was a fish-pond, plentifully stocked with fish. This pond belonged to the estate of Hirschberg, and Cuno, knowing how fond his brothers were of fishing, invited them to meet him there for a day’s sport.

It was a beautiful spring morning, and the three brothers arrived at the pond almost at the same moment. “Now it is strange,” cried Schalk, “that we should all arrive at the pond together. It was just striking seven o’clock as I rode out from Schalksberg.”

“I left Hohenzollern exactly at seven o’clock, also,” said Wolf.

“And I started at seven from Hirschberg,” said Cuno.

“Then,” said Schalk, “it is quite clear that the pond must be exactly in the centre of the three estates. It is a fine piece of water, too.”

“Yes,” replied Cuno, “and that is the reason why I have invited you here this morning. I know you are both fond of fishing, and although I also like to cast a line now and again, there is fish enough in the pond for all three of us, and room on the bank, too, even if we all wished to fish here together. And so, my brothers, I propose to make the pond common property and give both of you the same right to fish here as myself.”

“Indeed, our brother is mighty condescending,” said Schalk, mockingly. “And what shall we be expected to give in return, for, as everyone knows--death is the only thing to be had without payment.”

“And yet I give you this without any wish for payment,” replied Cuno. “All I want is to meet you here from time to time and have a little speech with you. Are we not all sons of the same father?”

“Well,” said Schalk, ungraciously, “I think there is nothing so stupid as to fish in company. One just drives the fish away from the other. But let us take it in turns; you, Cuno, fish Monday and Thursday, Wolf on Tuesday and Friday, and I on Wednesday and Saturday.”

“I will not agree to it,” said the gloomy Wolf. “I will accept nothing, neither will I share with any one. It was only fair, Cuno, to offer to divide the pond with us, for it really belongs to all three equally; but let us cast the dice and see who shall possess it in the future. If I am more fortunate than you, you can always ask leave of me to fish here.”

“I never gamble with dice,” replied Cuno, saddened by his brother’s ingratitude.

“Our brother is much too pious for that,” said Schalk, sneeringly. “But I have another plan which even the most pious hermit could not object to. Let us cast our lines and fish here until the clock strikes twelve, and whoever has caught the most fish by that time shall have the pond for his own.”

“Well,” said Cuno, “I am a foolish fellow to try for a prize that really belongs to myself, but just to show you I was in earnest in offering to share the pond I will accept the challenge.”

Cuno allowed his brothers to choose their own positions and the three began to fish. Then it seemed as though the fish knew who was the rightful owner, for they swarmed to take Cuno’s bait. No sooner did the line touch the water than twenty or thirty fish swam up, pushing each other out of the way in their anxiety to be caught. Before two hours had passed the ground all around Cuno was strewn with beautiful fish.

Then he ceased fishing and went to see what luck his brothers had had. Schalk had but three little fish and Wolf five, and both of them were looking very grim, for they could see from where they stood the enormous quantity Cuno had caught.

As Cuno approached, Wolf broke up his rod in a rage and flung the pieces into the pond--“It is absurd,” said he, “to suppose that you, stupid Cuno, can have beaten us fairly. How is it possible for you to catch more fish in a couple of hours than I could catch in a year? It is only by means of witchcraft that you have succeeded.”

“You have hit the mark, brother,” said Schalk, “the old witch he keeps at Hirschberg has taught him how to enchant the creatures. We were foolish to fish with him. Before long he will turn wizard himself.”

“You wicked men,” answered Cuno angrily. “I have had an opportunity this morning to judge of your greed, your shamelessness, and your rude, rough manners. Go your ways and never come here again. It would be better for you if you were only half so good and pious as the poor old woman you have called a witch.”

“No, a real witch she is not,” said Schalk, mockingly, “for if she were she would prophesy more correctly than she has done. Did she not tell my father that a great part of his inheritance would be sold for a florin? Now at his death he owned all the land within sight of Hohenzollern, and it is not likely that it will ever dwindle away so that it will be worth no more than a florin. She is a foolish old woman and you are just stupid Cuno.”

Schalk made off as fast as he could when he had finished speaking, for he was afraid of his brother’s strong arm, and Wolf followed him, in a worse temper than his surly father had ever been.

Cuno took his brothers’ cruel behaviour so much to heart that he fell ill, and had it not been for the ministrations of Father Joseph and the healing drinks the old woman prepared he must have died.

When his brothers heard that he lay at the point of death they gave a banquet, and when they were flushed with wine they made a compact that whoever first heard of Cuno’s death should fire the cannons from his castle to tell his brother the good news. And the one who fired first was to have the best cask of wine in Cuno’s cellar.

From this time Wolf kept a servant constantly in the neighbourhood of Hirschberg, and Schalk bribed one of Cuno’s servants to let him know the moment his master was dead.

But this servant had more affection for his good, kind master than for the wicked Schalk, and one day he asked the old woman if there were indeed no chance of his master’s recovery, and on her telling him that Cuno was very much better he expressed his joy and told her of the plan the brothers had made.

The old woman was very angry, and told Cuno, who, however, would not believe such unnatural conduct, and so the old woman urged him to make a trial and pretend he was dead, and then if the cannons were fired they would, of course, hear them.

So Count Cuno sent for the servant his brother had bribed, and bade him ride in haste and tell Schalk that he, Cuno, was at the point of death.

As the servant rode out of the gateway, Wolf’s spy stopped him and enquired whither he rode in such hot haste.

“Alas!” said the man, “my poor master is at the point of death. It is said he cannot live through the night.”

“Indeed!” cried the man and ran to saddle his horse and in a very short space of time he was riding furiously towards Hohenzollern. Such was his speed that, on reaching the gates, his horse fell and he had only time to say--“Count Cuno is dying,” before he became unconscious.

Immediately afterwards the cannons of Hohenzollern thundered forth and Wolf and his mother made merry, and congratulated one another on the big cask of wine they would win from Cuno’s cellar. They reckoned on the inheritance of the fine castle, the fish pond, and the beautiful jewels. And all the time the cannons sounded, each shot being followed by a wonderful echo, or what at first they took to be one, for they speedily discovered it was the sound of shot being fired from Schalksberg.

“Schalk must have had a spy at Hirschberg too,” Wolf said to his mother with a laugh. “Well, well, we shall have to share the wine as well as the rest of the inheritance.”

With that he mounted his horse, for he guessed that Schalk would try to be before him and pocket some of Cuno’s valuables before he arrived. But when he reached the fish-pond the two brothers met, and each blushed with shame, for each knew he had tried to be before his brother, and cheat him of part of the inheritance.

They rode along together and never mentioned Cuno, but discussed how they should settle affairs in the future, and how they should decide which of them should own Hirschberg.

But when they had crossed the drawbridge and entered the courtyard they saw their brother looking out of the window, quite hale and hearty. But his eyes flashed with wrath as he glanced at his two brothers.

They were very much afraid at first, for they thought it must be Cuno’s ghost; but as soon as they discovered he was alive and well, Wolf said sheepishly, “Why, I thought you were dead, brother!”

Schalk said very little, but if looks could have killed, Cuno would have had but a short time to live.

Then Cuno cried in a voice of thunder: “From this time I renounce all relationship between us. I heard the firing of cannons from your two castles and understood very well how you were making merry over my death. I have five field-pieces here at Hirschberg and I have had them loaded, and unless you make haste to get beyond range of the bullets you shall judge what sort of marksmen we have here at Hirschberg.”

They did not need a second warning, for they saw he meant what he said, and so they set spurs to their horses and raced down the hill. Cuno fired a cannon ball over their heads, not meaning to harm them, but merely to give them a good fright.

On their way down they began to quarrel as to who was to blame, both declaring he had fired his cannon solely because he had heard his brother firing. So bitter were they that when at length they parted company each vowed he hated and detested his brother worse even than Cuno.

Soon afterwards Cuno made his will, but he told no one what was in it. The old woman plagued her favourite sorely to tell her if he had left anything to his brothers, but he would not, and in the end she never knew, for she died the following year. All her pills and potions could not help her then, for she was ninety-eight years old, and the disease she died of was “old age,” which the cleverest doctor in the world cannot cure.

Count Cuno laid her to rest with every mark of respect and sorrow. It was not long before the old chaplain also left him, and then he became a very lonely man. But his loneliness was not for long, for Cuno, the good, died in his twenty-eighth year. Some said he was poisoned by his brothers, but whether it were so or no, no one ever really knew.

Again the country resounded with the roar of cannons, twenty-five rounds being fired from the castles of Zollern and Schalksberg.

“Well, there is no mistake this time,” said Schalk, as he met his brother Wolf on the road.

“No, indeed,” answered Wolf, “and if he were to rise and glare at us from the window as he did before, I have a pistol with me, ready charged, that will soon teach him to hold his peace.”

As they rode up the castle hill a rider and his retinue joined them. Neither of the brothers knew him, but supposed he must be a friend of Cuno’s who had come to his funeral, so they began to praise the dead man, lamented his early death, and Schalk even shed a few crocodile tears. But the knight answered never a word, only rode silently up the hill-side.

When the brothers dismounted, Wolf called for wine--“and of the best, Master Cellarman,” he added--“for now we are going to enjoy ourselves.”

He went up the stairs and entered the great hall, followed closely by the silent knight, who, when the twins had seated themselves at the table, drew a silver coin from his vest pocket, and, flinging it on the table between them, cried: “There is your inheritance, you will find it correct, the exact amount being a florin.”

The brothers looked surprised, laughed uneasily, and asked him what he meant.

The knight drew forth a parchment, with numerous seals attached, and began to read out what Cuno had set down there. Every act of enmity they had shown him during his lifetime was chronicled there, and then came an order that his estates and all that he possessed, with the exception of his mother’s jewels, were to be sold to the State of Würtemberg for the sum of one florin. The jewels, however, were to be sold, and the money be used to endow a house for the poor in the little town of Balingen.

The brothers laughed no longer; but gnashed their teeth with rage, for they knew they could not wrest their inheritance from Würtemberg; they had lost for ever the beautiful castle and all the estates belonging to it, all they were to inherit was a paltry florin.

Wolf slipped it into his pocket and he and Schalk stalked from the castle without so much as a word to the Commissioner of Würtemberg. They rode home, each to his own castle, but on the following morning Wolf rode over to Schalksberg and suggested they should go to the little town of Balingen which had gone to Würtemberg with the rest of the estates, and, just to show the folks they did not care, spend their inheritance on a quart of wine in which to drink each other’s healths. So they rode together to the inn at Balingen, called for a quart of red wine, and drank to each other.

When it was finished they called for the landlord, and Wolf flung the florin upon the table, but the landlord shook his head and told them that early that morning a messenger had come from Würtemberg and had paraded the town, with beat of drum, and proclaimed that the State had ordered all florin pieces to be called in and the use of them discontinued--“and therefore,” said the landlord, “I must ask you to pay me in a different coin.”

The brothers looked at each other and turned pale. Neither of them had any other money with him and so they were obliged to owe the landlord for the quart of wine.

They went on their way silently, for they did not feel in the mood for conversation, but when they came to the cross roads, where the way to the right led to Hohenzollern and that to the left to Schalksberg, Schalk said: “Well, our inheritance, it seems, was not worth a florin, moreover, the wine we thought to purchase with it was bad!”

“Yes,” replied Wolf thoughtfully, “and the old woman’s prediction has come true, for did she not say ‘We shall see some day if your inheritance be worth so much as a florin’? We have not been able to pay for a quart of wine with ours.”

Then they parted company and rode back to their castles, angry with themselves and the whole world.

THE COLD HEART.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Owner of all in the pine woods green,
Many a hundred years thou hast seen,
Thine all the land where the pine-trees grow--

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Owner of all in the pine woods green,
Many a hundred years thou hast seen,
Thine all the lands where the pine-trees grow--”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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