Chapter IV (1)

Ane gat a twist o’ the craig,
Ane gat a bunch o’ the wame,
Anither gat lam’d o’ a leg,
And syne he went bellowing hame.

THE princess Margaret was overjoyed once more to see her Brunilda’s lover, and she welcomed him with the sincerest regard. She listened with burning indignation to the account of the Dwarf’s treatment of his captives, and to such other parts of his history as he thought proper to relate; for he carefully suppressed, in the presence of the court, his adventures at Eisenac and his release by the gnome, lest the friendship of this good-natured spirit should again subject him to the charge of sorcery; and as he had already smelt fire at Eisenac, he was particularly anxious to avoid so warm a reception elsewhere. He informed the good princess that the girdle would only fit the damsel appointed by destiny to break the enchantment, and of consequence all were anxious to try it. Three of the most beautiful ladies in Misnia attempted, but strange to relate, in vain, to fix on the magic cestus: it shrunk to nothing round their forms, and Ludolph began again to tremble for the fate of his poor Brunilda. In vain did the most prudish ladies of the court present their slim forms to the girdle,—it would not meet around them. Several of those who had been most rigid in their own conduct, and most bitterly virtuous in regard to that of others, took the girdle with a devout air and blushing modesty, that quite revived the hope of the Westphalian knight. Alas! the cestus not only refused to clasp the waists of these fair ones, but even flew right out of their hands the moment they touched it; and this circumstance so disheartened Ludolph, that he foolishly enough, ere above twenty ladies had made the attempt, gossiped out the secret of its virtues in the delighted ear of the princess Margaret. That good lady thought the joke too excellent to be confined to so few persons; and there being among the unlucky twenty some whose beauty rivalled that of her beloved Brunilda, she lost no time in publishing the secret, which had the effect of making them all abhor Ludolph, and defeating the plans he was so anxious to carry into effect; for now, not a single woman acquainted with the virtue of the cestus would even try it on, and, instead of laughing with the princess and Ludolph at the unlucky discovery made by the twenty, they made, much to their honour, common cause against them, and vowed to smother the mischievous knight whenever they could conveniently catch hold of him. It required all the authority of the margrave, who at this juncture arrived at Weimar from the camp, to protect the unfortunate knight from their vengeance, who began to be as much afraid of these beautiful destroying angels as he had been of the fire-loving devils of Eisenac, or even the Yellow Dwarf himself. “Alas! I am surely the most unfortunate of men,” said he to the margrave; “I have been transformed to the detested shape of the Yellow Dwarf, for wishing to deliver your sister out of his hands. I have been near roasted alive for killing myself. I have been put to the ban for suffering myself to be tormented by my powerful enemy, and now I am in danger of being torn to pieces by the loveliest women in the world, only for being anxious to find one virgin in their company. Ah, my poor Brunilda! what will become of thee?” The margrave comforted the knight with the assurance that he would certainly be successful, if he could but prevail upon the ladies only to try on the girdle, and, in case of their obstinacy, he advised him to put the magic scissors into the hands of Brunilda herself, “For, if she be not worthy to use them,” said the proud Frederic with the bitten cheek, “she is not worthy of liberty, nor the tender love you bear her. For the other conditions, I fear we must despair, since I do believe there is not a knight in my court, no not in all the courts of Germany, that will accept the challenge; though against mortal foes, they are the bravest men in the universe.” The margrave was right. Each knight knew his own secret weakness too well to accept the office, when the conditions were stated to them, no one being willing, as they honestly avowed, to hazard an ignominious death, by disregarding the injunctions of the gnome. There was not a man among them who had not, at some time or other, offended by drunkenness, licentiousness, or breaking heads in an unjust quarrel: indeed, with regard to the latter peccadillo: it was scarcely possible, in the time of which I am treating, for it to be otherwise, since not only disputes of chivalry, and all injuries, whether public or private, were settled by the sword, even cases of felony and suits of law were arranged by the same expeditious decision; so that he of the strongest arm and stoutest heart infallibly gained his cause, whether right or wrong, as his adversary could no longer contend, either for reputation or property, after the dagger of mercy had been struck into his heart, or drawn quietly across his throat.

But, to return to our good Westphalian and his difficulties. After many objections, disputings, hopings, and fearings, the margrave at last found a salvo for Ludolph, and a stainless knight for the service of the king of the oranges. This was his own son, a boy of ten years old, upon whom, finding all other hope fail, he conferred the honour of knighthood, and released him from his martial studies, in which the gallant child spent all his time, and sent him to handle the shears of Atropus, and share in the glory of shaving the orange-coloured beard of the execrable Dwarf. The little knight Herman of Misnia was highly delighted by his admittance to this post of honour, and attached himself fondly to his good cousin Ludolph, who now began making preparations for his march. So great was the terror inspired among the people by the Yellow Dwarf, that it was with much difficulty he could collect troops sufficient to defend the son of the margrave upon this voyage of discovery, as all the nobles, knights, and regulars of Thuringia, were gone to the camp in daily expectation of an attack from the emperor Albert, who, having just been overreached in his views upon Bohemia, by his good cousin Henry of Carinthia, was advancing in no good humour upon the troops of the margrave of Misnia. After a proclamation of some days, in which Ludolph puffed the vast riches of the diamond mine with almost as much skill as Day and Martin puff their blacking, a number of strays from all parts of the empire gathered themselves together under his standard; and though he could not boast of commanding many of the nobles of Misnia, yet upon the whole, his troop was about as respectable as David’s at the cave of Adullam, when only those who were in debt, or distress, or discontented, enrolled themselves in his service. But great endings spring from small beginnings. From the captain of half-starved ragamuffins David became a king; and Ludolph hoped that his regiment of black-guards would finally conduct him to the feet of a princess. With this notion he set forward, full of expectation, with the youthful knight committed to his charge. On the road, fearful of any other delays, he inspired his companions by dwelling, with affected rapture, upon the spoils of the diamonds, which were so soon to be at their service, in the sack of the mine. These observations acted like electricity upon his respectable warriors, and sent them galloping toward the confines so rapidly, that before he had either hoped or expected it, they had arrived at the foot of the mystic mountain, where the whole troop made a halt, to await the return of Ludolph, who, with his young companion, was to descend first into the caves, seize the scissors, and then leave the coast clear for the plunderers to attack the mine. Matters were soon settled. The two knights found the entrance with some difficulty, and boldly descended into these dismal abodes, the residence of the infernal spirits who were in the pay of the Yellow Dwarf. After traversing many dreary caverns, they entered the last, where, elevated on a golden pedestal, stood the gigantic statue which held the scissors of fate, and was the guardian of the life of the Yellow Dwarf. Forgetting, in his joy at the sight, the caution of the gnome, he was advancing towards the statue, when a tremendous box on the ear from the marble fist, taught him to know his distance. He fell back accordingly, and, young Herman of Misnia approaching, the statue grinned as hideously at his protégé, but made no attempt to injure the boy, as fearlessly he climbed the pedestal, and, without any regard to the rights of property, grasped the magic scissors, and brought them back in triumph. Ludolph received them from his hands with the wildest sensation of delight; but, prudence conquering his emotions, he took his young preserver in his arms and retraced his way to daylight. Here he was greeted with shouts of applause by the soldiers, who, in spite of all the entreaties of Ludolph, persisted to ransack the caves, pursuant to their original agreement. In vain did he assure them the margrave’s enemies would furnish more spoils for them than the vaults, and that his share should be divided among them. Vainly did he describe the threatening looks of the statue, and assure them he still felt the tingling of the marble thump in his ear, with which he had complimented him. It was talking to the winds, or, as old Baker quaintly saith, “to as little purpose as if he had gone about to call back yesterday.” Down they all dashed together, neck and heels, with tremendous outcries, into the diamond caverns. Their return was silent and orderly enough. The cave of Trophonius could not have effected a better or more expeditious change. They were all as grave as judges, and every man appeared with his mouth twisted exactly under his left ear. Ludolph could gain but little information as to what had befallen them; all he understood was, that they had seen the statue, who had given the first man such a thundering slap of the face that its shock was felt by all the rest of his companions, and left the consequences which he now beheld, and which they had such good reasons to deplore. But, while the knights of the scissors and their wry-mouthed confederates are pursuing their road to Weimar, let us pop our heads under ground and see what has become of Brunilda.

The poor princess, much disconcerted by the diabolical contrivance of the Yellow Dwarf, gave way, when alone, to that indulgence of grief which she resolutely suppressed in his presence. She had encouraged the visits of the two Dwarfs, in the tender hope that, though they afforded no consolation to herself, they might yield some satisfaction to the bosom of her tormented lover. This being the real state of her feelings, she was deeply distressed when, the day after Ludolph’s release by the gnome, they neglected to pay her the customary visit, and therefore sent to request the presence of her tyrant. He came, and in no very good humour, for he had just failed in the effect of a spell, which he hoped would discover the runaway. He told her, even more brutally than usual, that Ludolph had escaped, that he was endeavouring to discover him, and that in case he succeeded, of which he had no doubt, he would immediately hang him, unless the princess would save his life by giving her hand to his rival. Delighted by the escape of the knight, Brunilda could not keep her joy to herself, but expressed it so imprudently, and with such heartfelt glee at the Dwarf’s vexation, that it irritated all the bile in his little yellow body, and provoked him to have recourse to his most powerful spells to discover the abode of Ludolph. It was, luckily for the knight, a work of time and difficulty, since the gnome of the mine was at hand to unravel all his charms as fast as the other wrought them; and he was, by this means, obliged to desist, in order to find the invisible enemy who thus thwarted his plans and protected his victim. The indefatigable gnome was still at his elbow, and poor yellow-beard continued as much in the dark at the end of his spells, as he had been at the beginning. All this gave the knight time, which was what the gnome wanted, and the Dwarf remained in ignorance of his movements, till the spirits, who were the guardians of his talisman in the mountain caves, informed him of his danger and the seizure of the magic scissors. Such a contrivance as that of knighting a child the demon never contemplated, but finding one half of the adventure accomplished, he determined, as far as in him lay, to prevent the achievement of the other. Learning by his fiends, that he was threatened with danger from Brunilda, he made it his principal care that the magic scissors should not be wielded by her, and accordingly penned her up more closely than ever, surrounding her by spells, not only inaccessible to mortals, but even to his own attendant spirits, whom he would not trust too far, lest his tyranny should have inspired them with hatred to his person, and laxity in his service. Among his equals in the demon world he well knew, and feared the indignation of the gnome of the silver mines, whose territories he had invaded, and before whose power, if joined to that of other enemies, he would have good reasons to tremble. These considerations determined his conduct, and, to prevent Brunilda from handling the scissors, and the scissors from approaching his beard, he devised a spell so potent, that he fondly hoped and believed he was safe from the attacks of, and might bid defiance to, all sorts of enemies, natural and supernatural.

In the mean time, Ludolph and his companions had arrived at the court of Weimar, to the great joy of the margrave and his mother, who, looking upon the adventure as nearly finished, entreated Ludolph to lose no time in joining his friend the gnome in the enchanted forest. He himself had no wish to delay the business, and, after making one more unsuccessful attempt to prevail upon the ladies of Misnia to try on the girdle, he set off to present it to his lovely Brunilda: and, arriving near the Orange Tree, was met by the friendly gnome. “It is not yet in my power to introduce you to the presence of the princess,” said he to the count, “as I have not yet conquered the spells by which our enemy has surrounded her: the cavern is inaccessible at present to any human foot, but it is not in the power of the demon to limit my steps in the territory of which I am the legitimate lord. His spirits are as powerful as mine, and thus I am obliged to have recourse to artifice to conquer him, which I should not be able to effect, if he had not, by obtruding into my dominions, placed the secret in my power. Unlike the free spirits who have existed from the beginning of the world, and who will probably survive its demolition, the Dwarf is mortal born, though, by magic spells, he has lengthened his life many hundred years; but his birth subjects him to death, which will be inevitable, should the infernal power by which he has accomplished his purposes be defeated. To prevent this catastrophe, he has placed his life in a talisman, which he believes unconquerable, but which, I trust, we shall overthrow. Caution is, however, necessary, for his spells are mighty, and the spirits subjected to his command are many. In the interim you shall rest here, and I will provide for your necessities till I shall be able to conduct you to Brunilda, to whom you must explain the virtues of the scissors of fate, for, by an immutable decree which no spirit dares violate, I am restrained from appearing before her till she herself shall summon me.” The gnome then raised a comfortable tent for Ludolph, loaded it with provisions, drew a line of protection about it, and vanished.

Three days passed tranquilly enough with Ludolph, while patiently awaiting the re-appearance of his friend the gnome, but the fourth was beginning to hang heavy, when the spirit entered the tent in the middle of the night. “I triumph,” said he; “I have unloosed the spell that kept you from the presence of Brunilda. The Dwarf, being mortal born, is subject to mortal necessities, and at this hour he sleeps; rise and throw yourself at the feet of the princess; give me your hand, and close your eyes.” Ludolph obeyed, and the next moment found himself in the apartment of Brunilda. As I, the honest chronicler of the loves of the Westphalian knight and Misnian princess, am no great dealer in sentiment, I shall omit all the particulars of the meeting, and only say how truly happy Brunilda was to receive him, and how grateful she felt towards the obliging gnome, whom she gladly summoned to her presence. To the great relief of Ludolph, who trembled and doubted grievously while making the proposal, she had not the slightest objection, even after she was made acquainted with its virtues, to try on the enchanted girdle, which fitted her graceful form as if it had been purposely made for her: her lover could not help commending the taste of the Yellow Dwarf, and was as much overjoyed at this earnest of success as if he held the demon’s beard in his hand. The gnome then gave Brunilda the fatal scissors, and telling them that the spirits of their enemy could not perceive them, from the powerful spells by which they are surrounded, desired them to follow his footsteps fearlessly to the inner caverns, where slept the demon, and whom sleep would probably render defenceless. Stretching out their necks and stepping on tiptoe, the lovers followed the gnome to the private apartment of the Dwarf, whom Brunilda anxiously hoped to serve in quality of barber extraordinary. With beating hearts they beheld their guide throw open the door of his chamber, and desire the princess to advance, at the same time approaching the couch of the demon, and drawing back his curtain. Brunilda obeyed; mustering all her courage, and collecting a little army of disagreeable remembrances to her aid, she found herself so strengthened that, like Judith, she resolved to finish the business with a single snip. But the Holofernes of Germany had had more wit than his drunken predecessor, and had taken much better care of his shaggy head; for the Judith of Misnia looked in vain for the yellow beard that was to fall beneath the fatal scissors. That _that_ had disappeared was not wonderful, since the face to which it formed such a remarkable appendage had entirely vanished from the body. There lay the carcase of the Dwarf, sleeping, it may be, but his head was dozing in some other place, for the body was very quietly reposing without it. Poor Brunilda shed tears of vexation, and the gnome looked silly enough to find himself thus completely outwitted; but knowing that he could find no remedy for the disappointment by standing gaping at the demon’s trunk, he drew the lovers from the chamber, conducted Ludolph back to his tent, and again had recourse to his spells, which told him that the Dwarf, fearful of surprise while disarmed by sleep, took off his head every night, and concealed it in some place of safety, but where he could not discover. This was a vexatious incident; but “_ruse contre ruse_,” thought the gnome, and to work he went with a fresh resolution to outspell the yellow conjuror and liberate the lovers. In the mean time the demon awoke from his invigorating slumber, and hastened to replace his ugly head upon his shoulders, and then, head and tail once more united, sat down to consider the possibility of recapturing the knight of Tecklenburgh, in whose hands, notwithstanding the success of his spells, he did not like to leave the magic scissors. Brunilda, it is true, was safe enough; but the Dwarf knew (though Ludolph could not discover them) that there were more virgins than one in the Misnian court; and that the count wanted neither eloquence to persuade such to assist him, nor resolution to attack his enemy, when that difficulty should be conquered. In the midst of these cogitations he was aroused by a summons from the princess, who had not permitted him to approach her since the day after Ludolph’s departure: the little coxcomb was enchanted by the message, and hastened to arrange his look in the most becoming manner possible, ere he presented himself before the eyes of his lovely captive. Brunilda was in tears when he entered her apartment, and no sooner did she behold him than she poured upon him such a torrent of reproach and abuse, that the Dwarf, though in general tolerably well skilled in the use of that cutting weapon the tongue, stood utterly confounded, and knew not what to reply. She accused him vehemently of the murder of her lover, her dear Ludolph, which secret she said, had been revealed to her in a dream by her patron saint that very night, and she had therefore sent to him to accuse him to his guilty face. The Dwarf listened in surprise; but this time far from retorting with the usual bitterness upon Brunilda, he was hugging himself in the notion that the patron saint might have told the truth, and that Ludolph, whom all his arts had failed to discover, might really be no longer an inhabitant of the earth, in which case he flattered himself he might possibly succeed him in the affections of the fair Brunilda, whose hand he coveted no less than her brother’s lands, of which he resolved to dispossess him whenever he should become the husband of his sister. Full of these agreeable hopes and ideas, he soothed the weeping princess as well as the ruggedness of his nature would permit, and assured her, that though her lover was dead, (a circumstance of which he averred he was well aware, though compassion had hitherto prevented his informing her,) yet he had no hand in his death, and would endeavour by every mark of tenderness and attention to reconcile her to this inevitable loss. Brunilda suffered herself to be comforted, and even allowed his yellow lips to press her fair hand, which so delighted the lover, that he released her from her severe confinement, and permitted her to roam at large through the caverns, and occupy her former apartment, where he continued to visit her daily, and daily quitted her with the flattering hope that he had at length discovered the mode of making himself agreeable. Brunilda encouraged this delightful dream by her changed method of conduct; she ceased, after the first two interviews, entirely to reproach the Dwarf, and permitting his devotions, she gradually appeared to desire them, and even frequently condescended to rally him upon the oddity of his dress, and the old-fashioned cut of his hood: he immediately adopted another to gratify her taste, and was exceedingly vain of the notice she took of him. She admired his flowing hair, and even his long beard had ceased to be an object of disgust to her: every thing became beautiful by custom, she said; and she now discovered, what her indignation before had prevented her from observing, that the colour of his beard was the same as that of her great grandfather the emperor Frederic II., who was universally accounted a very handsome man. The Dwarf smirked, bridled, and was equally delighted with Brunilda and himself, since he now hoped no further opposition on her part would be offered to his proposals: he grew excessively fond of, and very indulgent to the princess, suffering her to command in his caverns, and taking great delight in exhibiting to her the riches of which she was so soon to be mistress. In all ages, among all nations, flattery has ever been the shortest and surest road to the human heart; and men, however they may affect to smile at this weakness in the gentler sex, are not, whether giants, middle-sized men, or dwarfs, one whit less subject to this poor human frailty than the ladies themselves, in whom it is so pardonable.

If Eve yielded to the compliments of the serpent, Sampson was subdued by the witching coaxing of Delilah; the sage Solomon drank flattery from the lips of seven hundred wives (Heaven pardon the old monopoliser!) and concubines; Holofernes lost his head for listening to the seducing tongue of Judith; and the mighty Nebuchadnezzar was not sent to grass for any other reason than swallowing down too plentiful a dose of this bewitching opiate: of all these gentlefolks, Eve was certainly least blameable; for it required diabolical power to turn her from the path of right, but the men sunk their virtue before the lustre of black eyes or the gorgeousness of costly attire. As for profane story—O the tens and the fifties that might be enumerated!—but as this is not our present business, let us leave them to see what effect this pleasant medicine, so gently administered, had upon the little Dwarf. He was, in truth, the happiest of all yellow men; for, deceived by the tranquillity of his life and the strength of his spells, he believed his enemy had given up the task of conquering him, and left him to wear his beard in quiet. Brunilda still continued amiable, and heard him frequently, without any marks of indignation, express his hope that, when the time of her sorrowful mourning for the count of Tecklenburgh should be over, she would listen with compassion to a truer lover. She neither checked nor encouraged these expectations; and the happy demon determined not to forfeit her affections by any precipitation on his part. All this amiable conduct, however, on the part of Brunilda, was in fact but a contrivance of the friendly gnome, who thus hoped to extort by her means the secret of his nightly pillow from himself. According to the plan agreed upon by the allies, the gnome, at this period of his enemy’s courtship, began again to disturb and puzzle him by his enchantments; and he succeeded in discomposing the harmony of his feelings so much, that he was obliged to have recourse to Brunilda, and (secure of her attachment to his person) vent all his complaints and vexations in her compassionating bosom. _She_ was all astonishment at the cruel designs projected against her Dwarf by his ungenerous enemies; she implored him pathetically to take care of his head, (a request with which he graciously promised to comply, more for her sake than his own,) and exhibited such anxiety to know if his precautions were sufficient, that the Dwarf almost betrayed his secret, overcome by the excessive vanity her conduct was so well calculated to inspire. Relaxing from his habitual caution, he was about to inform her of some arrangements of his spells, when Brunilda, overacting the part assigned to her, entreated him, if he valued her happiness, to commit his precious head every night to her keeping, promising to guard it with the utmost tenderness and care. At this imprudent request, all his suspicions returned; he eyed Brunilda askance, and gravely told her that, even were she his bride, he could not grant her desire, as it had always been his opinion that the less wives were trusted with the care of their husbands’ heads the better. He left her surlily: he had himself told her of his headless rest, but he did not expect such a request would follow his information; and Brunilda, alarmed by the consequences of her ill-timed petition, summoned the gnome of the mine to her presence. He chid her precipitation, but gave her a small vial containing a delicious cordial, which should repair the mischief. “You may have observed,” said he, “that the Dwarf neither eats nor drinks of your food: prevail upon him once to sup at your table, and pour a few drops of this cordial into his drink: he must take it willingly, or it will have no effect. In the sleep which follows the enchanted draught, he will be partly in my power, and compelled to answer any question you may propose to him. I need not direct you what to ask; but should he reply according to our wishes, summon me to your side, and the business is done.” The gnome gave her the potion, and vanished; while Brunilda diligently applied herself to remove the suspicions of the Dwarf. In a few days she completely succeeded; and the flattered demon, on hearing her frequently complain of the insipidity of supping alone, requested permission to attend her at table during her supper. This request was readily granted, and the visit constantly repeated by the Dwarf, who at length, at her earnest entreaty, consented to partake of her repast. This was continued till all suspicion was removed from the mind of the Dwarf; and in one of his happiest moods she insisted upon his pledging her in wine: he obeyed, and, with the contents of the bowl, swallowed the magic cordial. With what anxiety did Brunilda count the hours till she deemed the Dwarf had retired to rest; how she trembled as she quitted her chamber for that of her tyrant, whose beard, ere day-break, she hoped, would be the reward of her courage! With a beating heart she entered his apartment, and stepping up to him, demanded in a trembling voice—“Dwarf of the Orange Tree where hast thou hidden thy head?” The stubborn carcase made no reply to this straight-forward question; and Brunilda shivered from head to foot as she considered the possibility of his not yet being asleep, and both hearing and understanding her question. “Should it be so, I am indeed utterly undone,” said poor Brunilda; “for how shall I be able to deceive him again, since he must now be aware of my motives.” Another reflection brought more comfort: she recollected, that as the head only can hear, so the head only can answer questions; and she determined to walk quietly through all the caverns, and repeat the question in each. She had but a short time allowed her for action, as the Dwarf was an early riser, and she lost none in putting her scheme into execution. Away she sallied, quick as anxiety would allow her; unwearied she pursued her task, but ranged through every apartment of the subterranean palace without obtaining an answer. She almost thought the Dwarf had removed his head further off, when, passing through a dismal-looking hole in which were two iron pillars, she paused to repeat the charm—“Dwarf of the Orange Tree, where hast thou hidden thy head?” “Here,” replied a well-known voice; “here, in the pillar on your left hand.” Brunilda started at the sound, but quickly recovered her spirits, and turning to the east, summoned, as agreed upon, her coadjutors to her assistance—“Gnome of this mine, I call thee hither: bring with thee my lover, and the magic scissors of fate.” In the next instant her friends were at her side, and the scissors glittered in her hand. She explained in few words the happy result of her enterprise; the gnome struck the pillar with his mace, the massy substance divided, and the ugly head of her detested jailer rolled at the feet of the delighted Brunilda, who, without any apology, seized it and began most nimbly to ply the magic scissors. At that moment, the Dwarf, awakened by the near approach of morning, flew to replace his head upon his shoulders, and discovered, with the utmost rage and alarm, the intruders upon his premises. The opened eyes of the head now directed the motions of the body, which rushed forward and bounced upon them so suddenly, that Brunilda shrieked and dropped the head, only retaining a grasp of the beard. The Dwarf as nimbly caught it, and endeavoured to wrest it from her; but the princess, invigorated by despair and the exclamations of her friends, kept fast hold of it, and struggled stoutly with the demon. The gnome lent her his assistance, in holding the head for her scissors, while Ludolph kept shoving, thrusting, and hacking with his sword at the invulnerable demon, in the hope of obliging him to loosen his grasp of his head. The struggle continued some minutes, the Dwarf pulling, Ludolph shoving, and Brunilda, utterly regardless of the scratches he was liberally bestowing upon her lover, cutting away at the yellow beard with all her might and main. At length she observed, that the longer she cut the weaker grew the resistance of the demon, and this gave new force to her delicate fingers; she snipped on till the last hair was separated from the chin, and the yellow head and deformed body both fell senseless together upon the ground. Brunilda was quietly looking upon her fallen enemy, when the magic instrument of her success suddenly sprung from her hand, and she beheld the scissors of fate gliding away rapidly through the air, as if borne off by an invisible spirit. The friendly gnome then conducted the lovers to the margrave’s court, (after demanding from Brunilda the magic belt, which he said would be too dangerous a weapon in the hand of a lady,) and a few weeks after the battle of Luckow, in which the margrave was successful, they were united, to the great joy of all parties, but more particularly of those who expected to be invited to the wedding dinner. But that dinner! O that dinner! why what a glory of gastronomy were the dishes! There was the porpoise stewed in his own oil; beeves roasted whole; and proudly pre-eminent, even among them, the noble wild boar, the standard dish of Germany, showed his grinning tusks, now no longer formidable; roasted cranes, standing upon their long legs, seemed just stepping out of their platters, making a “pretty drollery;” there was the knightly peacock, the bird of chivalry, dressed out in his brilliant feathers; the stately swan, sailing about in his golden dish; while herons, turkeys, geese, and such small fry graced the magnificent board in quality of side dishes. In short, as the newspapers said, “there were all the delicacies of the season,” which the nobles washed down with floods of Rhenish, until they did not know what they were swallowing. The day was happier than it was long, for all thought its felicity was too short-lived, except Ludolph and his princess, who had many still brighter; as long years of happiness was the reward of the few months of suffering. The gnome of the mine returned to his recovered territories, and, as he had now no farther occasion for their services, never since that time interfered in the concerns of mortals. The princess Margaret lived to a good old age, and died at last in the odour of sanctity, eschewing evil, Satan, sin, and the yellow Demon of the Orange Tree.

DER FREISCHUTZ: OR, THE MAGIC BALLS.

FROM THE GERMAN OF A. APEL.

Black spirits and white,
Blue spirits and grey,
Mingle, mingle, mingle,
You that mingle may.

“LISTEN, dear wife,” said Bertram, the forester of Lindenhayn, to his good and faithful Anne; “listen, I beseech you, one moment. You know I have ever done my utmost to make you happy, and will still continue to do so; but this project is out of the question. I entreat you, do not encourage the girl any farther in the notion; settle the matter decidedly at once, and she will only drop a few silent tears, and then resign herself to my wishes; but by these silly delays nothing rational can be effected.”

“But, dearest husband,” objected the coaxing wife, “may not Catherine be as happy with William the clerk as with Robert the gamekeeper? Indeed you do not know him: he is so clever, so good, so kind—”

“But no marksman,” interrupted the forester. “The situation which I hold here has been possessed by my family for more than two hundred years, and has always descended down in a straight line from father to son. If, instead of this girl, Anne, you had brought me a boy, all would have been well; and the wench, if she had been in existence, might have chosen for her bridegroom him whom she loved best; now the thing is impossible. My son-in-law must also be my successor, and must therefore be a marksman. I shall have, in the first place, some trouble to obtain the trial for him; and in the second, if he should not succeed, truly, I shall have thrown my girl away: so a clever huntsman she shall have. But observe, if you do not like him, I do not exactly insist upon Robert: find another active clever fellow for the girl, I will resign my situation to him, and we shall pass the rest of our lives free from anxiety and happily with our children. But hush!—not another word!—I beseech you let me hear no more of the steward’s clerk.”

Mother Anne was silenced; she would fain have said a few more words in favour of poor William, but the forester, who was too well acquainted with the power of female persuasion, gave her no further opportunity; he took down his gun, whistled his dog, and strode away to the forest. The next moment, the fair curled head of Catherine, her face radiant with smiles, was popped in at the door—“Is all right, dear mother?” said she. “Alas! no, my child; do not rejoice too soon;” replied the sorrowing Anne. “Your father speaks kindly, but he has determined to give you to nobody but a huntsman; and I know he will not change his mind.” Catherine wept, and declared she would sooner die than wed any other than her own William. Her mother wept, fretted, and scolded by turns; till at length it was finally determined to make another grand attack upon the tough heart of old Bertram; and in the midst of a deliberation respecting the manner in which this was to be effected, the rejected lover entered the apartment.

When William had heard the cause of the forester’s objection,—“Is that all, my Catherine,” said he, pressing the weeping girl to his bosom; “then keep up your spirits, dearest, for I will myself become a forester. I am not unacquainted with woodcraft, for I was, when a boy, placed under the care of my uncle, the chief forester Finsterbuch, in order to learn it, and only at the earnest request of my uncle the steward, I exchanged the shooting-pouch for the writing-desk. Of what use,” continued the lover, “would his situation and fine house be to me, if I cannot carry my Catherine there as the mistress of it? If you are not more ambitious than your mother, dearest, and William the gamekeeper will be as dear to you as William the steward, I will become a woodsman directly; for the merry life of a forester is more delightful to me than the constrained habits of the town.”

“O dear, dear William,” said Catherine,—all the dark clouds of sorrow sweeping rapidly over her countenance, and leaving only a few drops of glittering sunny rain, sparkling in her sweet blue eyes,—“O beloved William! if you will indeed do this, all may be well: hasten to the forest, seek my father, and speak to him ere he have time to pass his word to Robert.” “Away,” replied William, “to the forest; I will seek him out, and offer my services as gamekeeper: fear nothing, Catherine; give me a gun, and now for the huntsman’s salute.”

What success he had in his undertaking was soon visible to the anxious eye of Catherine, on her father’s return with him from the forest. “A clever lad, that William,” said the old man; “who would have expected such a shot in a townsman? I’ll speak to the steward myself to-morrow; it would be a thousand pities such a marksman should not stick to the noble huntsman craft. Ha! ha! he will become a second Kuno. But do you know who Kuno was?” demanded he of William.

The latter replied in the negative.

“Look you there now!” ejaculated Bertram; “I thought I had told you long since. He was my ancestor, the first who possessed this situation. He was originally a poor horseboy in the train of the knight of Wippach; but he was clever, obliging, grew a favourite, and attended his master every where, to tournaments and hunting parties. Once his knight accompanied the duke on a grand hunting match, at which all the nobles attended. The hounds chased a huge stag towards them, upon whose back, to their great astonishment, sat tied a human being, shrieking aloud in a most frightful manner. There existed at that period, among the feudal lords, an inhuman custom of tying unhappy wretches who incurred their displeasure (perhaps by slight transgressions against the hunting laws) upon stags, and then driving them into the forest to perish miserably by hunger, or at least to be torn to pieces by the brambles. The duke was excessively enraged at this sight, and offered immense rewards to any one who would shoot the stag; but clogged his benefactions with death to the marksman, should his erring bullet touch the victim, whose life he was desirous to preserve, in order to ascertain the nature of his offence. Startled by the conditions, not one of the train attempted the rescue of the poor wretch, till Kuno, pitying his fate, stepped forward and boldly offered his services. The duke having accepted them he took his rifle, loaded it in God’s name, and earnestly recommending the ball to all the saints and angels in heaven, fired steadily into the bush in which he believed the stag had taken refuge. His aim was true; the animal instantly sprung out, plunged to the earth, and expired; but the poor culprit escaped unhurt, except that his hands and face were miserably torn by the briers. The duke kept his word well, and gave to Kuno and his descendants for ever this situation of forester. But envy naturally follows merit, and my good ancestor was not long in making the discovery. There were many of the duke’s people who had an eye to this situation, either for themselves or some cousin or dear friend, and these persuaded their masters that Kuno’s wonderful success was entirely owing to sorcery; upon which, though they could not turn him out of his post, they obtained an order that every one of his descendants should undergo a trial of his skill before he could be accepted; but which, however, the chief forester of the district, before whom the essay is made, can render as easy or difficult as he pleases. I was obliged to shoot a ring out of the beak of a wooden bird, which was swung backwards and forwards; but I did not fail, any more than my forefathers; and he who intends to succeed me, and wed my Catherine, must be at least as good a marksman.”

William, who had listened very attentively, was delighted with this piece of family history; he seized the old man’s hand, and joyously promised to become, under his direction, the very first of marksmen; such as even grandfather Kuno himself should have no cause to blush for.

Scarcely had fourteen happy days passed over his head, ere William was settled as gamekeeper in the forester’s house; and Bertram, who became fonder of him every day, gave his formal consent to his engagement with Catherine. It was, however, agreed that their betrothment should be kept secret until the day of the marksman’s trial, when the forester expected to give a greater degree of splendour to his family festival by the presence of the duke’s commissary. The bridegroom swam in an ocean of delight, and so entirely forgot himself and the whole world in the sweet opening heaven of love, that Bertram frequently insisted, that he had not been able to hit a single mark since he had aimed so successfully at Catherine.

And so it really was. From the day of his happy betrothment, William had encountered nothing but disasters while shooting. At one time his gun missed fire; at another, when he aimed at a deer, he lodged the contents of his rifle in the trunk of a tree: when he came home, and emptied his shooting-pouch, instead of partridges, rooks and crows, and in lieu of hares, dead cats. The forester at length grew seriously angry, and reproved him harshly for his carelessness: even Catherine began to tremble for the success of the master-shot.

William redoubled his diligence, but to no purpose; the nearer the approach of the important day, the more alarming grew his misfortunes; every shot missed. At length he was almost afraid to fire a gun, lest he should do some mischief; for he had already lamed a cow and almost killed the cowherd.

“I insist upon it,” said the gamekeeper Rudolph, one evening, to the party, “I insist upon it that some wizard has bewitched William, for such things could not happen naturally; therefore let us endeavour to loosen the charm.”—“Superstitious stuff!” interrupted Bertram, angrily; “an honest woodsman should not even think of such trash. Do you forget the three things which a forester ought to have, and with which he will always be successful, in spite of sorcery? Come, to your wits, answer my query.” “That can I truly,” answered Rudolph; “he should have great skill, a keen dog, and a good gun.” “Enough,” said Bertram; “with these three things every charm may be loosened, or the owner of them is a dunce and no shot.”

“Under favour, father Bertram,” said William, “here is my gun; what have you to object against it? and as for my skill, I do not like to praise myself, but I think I am as fair a sportsman as any in the country; nevertheless, it seems as if all my balls went crooked, or as if the wind blew them away from the barrel of my gun. Only tell me what I shall do. I am willing to do any thing.” “It is singular,” muttered the forester, who did not know what else to say.

“Believe me, William,” again began Rudolph, “it is nothing but what I have said. Try only once: go on a Friday, at midnight, to a cross road, and make a circle round you with the ramrod, or with a bloody sword, which must be blessed three times, in the name of Sammiel.”—“Silence!” interrupted Bertram, angrily: “know ye whose name that is? he is one of the fiend’s dark legion. God protect us and every Christian from him!” William crossed himself devoutly, and would hear nothing further, though Rudolph still maintained his opinion. He passed the night in cleaning his gun, and examining minutely every screw, resolving, at dawn of day once more to sally forth, and try his fortune in the forest. He did so, but, alas! in vain. Mischiefs thickened round him: at ten paces distance he fired three times at a deer; twice his gun missed fire, and although it went off the third time, yet the stag bounded away unhurt into the midst of the forest. Full of vexation, he threw himself under a tree, and cursed his fate, when suddenly a rustling was heard among the bushes, and a queer-looking soldier with a wooden leg came hopping out from among them.

“Holloa! huntsman,” he began, laughing at the disconsolate-looking William, “what is the matter with you? Are you in love, or is your purse empty, or has any body charmed your gun? Come, don’t look so blank; give me a pipe of tobacco, and we’ll have a chat together.”

William sullenly gave him what he asked, and the soldier threw himself down in the grass by the side of him. The conversation naturally turned upon woodcraft, and William related his misfortunes to him. “Let me see your gun,” said the soldier. William gave it. “It is assuredly bewitched,” said he of the wooden leg, the moment he had taken it in his hand; “you will not be able to fire a single shot with it; and if they have done it according to rule, it will be the same with every gun you shall take into your hands.”

William was startled; he endeavoured to raise objections against the stranger’s belief in witches, but the latter offered to give him a proof of the justice of his opinions. “To us soldiers,” said he, “there is nothing strange; and I could tell you many wonderful things, but which would detain us here till night. But look here, for instance: this is a ball which is sure of hitting its mark, because it possesses some particular virtue: try it; you won’t miss.” William loaded his gun, and looked around for an object to aim at. A large bird of prey hovered high above the forest, like a moving dot;—“Shoot that kite,” said the one-legged companion. William laughed at his absurdity, for the bird was hovering at a height which the eye itself could scarcely reach. “Laugh not, but fire,” said the other, grimly; “I will lay my wooden leg that it falls.” William fired, the black dot sunk, and a huge kite fell bleeding to the ground. “You would not be surprised at that,” said he of the wooden leg to the huntsman, who was speechless and staring with astonishment; “you would not, I repeat, be surprised at that, if you were better acquainted with the wonders of your craft. Even the casting such balls as these is one of the least important things in it; it merely requires dexterity and courage, because it must be done in the night. I will teach you for nothing when we meet again; now I must away, for the bell has told seven. In the mean time—here, try a few of my balls; still you look incredulous—well—till we meet again.”—

The soldier gave William a handful of balls, and departed. Full of astonishment, and still distrusting the evidence of his senses, the latter tried another of the balls, and again struck an almost unattainable object: he loaded his gun in the usual manner, and again missed the easiest! He darted forward to follow the crippled soldier, but the latter was no longer in the forest; and William was obliged to remain satisfied with the promise which he had given of meeting him again hereafter.

Great joy it gave to the honest forester when William returned, as before, loaded with game from the forest. He was now called upon to explain the circumstance; but not being prepared to give a reason, and above all, dreading to say any thing upon the subject of his infallible balls, he attributed his ill luck to a fault in his gun, which he had only, he pretended, last night discovered and rectified. “Did I not tell you so, wife,” said Bertram, laughing. “Your demon was lodged in the barrel; and the goblin which threw down father Kuno this morning, sat grinning, on the rusty nail.” “What say you of a goblin,” demanded William; “and what has happened to father Kuno?” “Simply this,” replied Bertram: “his portrait fell of itself from the wall this morning, just as the bell tolled seven; and the silly woman settled it that a goblin must be at the bottom of the mischief, and that we are haunted accordingly.”