Chapter VI: Little Hans and the Kobolds

A long time ago, near a village of the Oberharz, was a little house of rough stone, with gay wallflowers growing in the mossy patches on its thatched roof. Its windows were small and crooked, and a bake-oven bulged the wall on one side of its low vine-studded door.

In the clean swept yard, marigolds marched in two yellow ranks up the broken flagged walk, and a tall linden drooped over the attic window of its high pitched roof, where little Hans and his sister Gerta slept.

Behind the house was the forest, and then the mountain crags, all very quiet, with only a goat’s bell tinkling now and then, or the twit of a swallow. And up beyond the house and forest and crags was the great mountain, the Vorharz.

On the mountain, the streams ran bright and clear over bolder and smooth, pebbly bottom, lingering in cool ferny places where the quaking aspen bent and sweet red raspberries grew.

On the mountain, the rough crags and peaks loomed barely about the shadowy canons and valleys, on up to where the everlasting snows gleam coldly under the starlight, or glow, roseate, in the light of the dawning.

Little Hans was bold and wayward, and if it had not been for Gerta, he would have given their parents no end of care. But she, being a year older, looked after him, and at nightfall she often had to go in search of him, for he was always running here and there, in forest and village, even venturing up on the crags, which were brown rocks, bare, save for a bit of juniper or a stunted fir-tree jutting from the side of the mountain, with dark caves where the most daring goatherd or bravest hunter feared to go.

These they called the berg caves. And when the oldest grandmother in the village sat before her fire late one afternoon with a little crowd of children about her, little Hans stood by her chair to hear her tales of the kobolds, who haunted the berg caves. Woe betide him who slept beside one of them, for he would vanish, and the world would know him no more, for he toiled deep inside the mountain, a slave to the Kobold king, until some one was brave enough to venture by night within the caves and, reaching the king’s throne, demand the prisoner’s release. But never, said the grandmother, never in all the years, had one been found willing to go; and never had one who vanished thus returned.

It became twilight as she talked, and little Hans’ mother was bustling about in their home setting forth the supper. So Gerta must run to the oldest grandmother’s house and bring home little Hans.

At supper, he was full of the kobolds; but his father declared it was no good luck to talk of the little folk. “But father, last night, when all were abed, I heard you and mother speak of how poor we are and how you dreaded the long winter coming. In the mountains, father, are all kinds of gold and precious stones, Grossmutter says.” But his father stopped his chatter, and, supper over, they were soon all abed.

But long after all was quiet and the cricket was chirping by the smoldering hearth, Gerta heard little Hans mutter in his sleep. “Silver and gold and all manner of precious stones;” and when she awoke in the morning, the attic window stood open and little Hans was gone.

He had climbed from the roof into the linden-tree and gone off in the moonlight to hunt the gold of the kobold king.

Goatherds and chamois hunters for miles around aided in the search for him, as well as the village neighbors; but after a week of seeking, the lost boy could not be found, and he was mourned as dead. But not by little Gerta. She was very sure, in her heart, that he was far within the berg caves, a slave to the kobolds; but as no one believed her, she finally came to say no more about it. Yet every day, as she followed their goats as they minced daintily along to join the village herd, she fell into a way of asking every swift-winged swallow, every darting fish, every golden butterfly, “Where is little Hans?”

One evening, at sunset, when all the peaks were rose, and all the valleys purple patches on the dusky mountainsides, and the goatherds’ horns blew sweet and high as they gathered their flocks,--just then, as she stood by the dripping basin of the spring in her garden, she saw a toad slip out from beneath and sit with half shut jeweled eyes, darting his slender tongue to catch the midges dancing in the last sunbeams.

Again little Gerta asked, as she had so often, “Oh, where is little Hans?” And a tiny, lisping voice answered, “Serving the kobolds under Oberharz.”

The toad then hopped away, and Gerta, hardly believing her ears, could not be sure that it was he who had spoken; yet as he went through a broken place in the wall, he turned his head and blinked at her knowingly. But when she told her father and mother, they thought she had dreamed it.

All that night little Gerta could not sleep. The tree-frogs chirped “Little Hans,” the sleeping swallows, twittering under the eaves in their dreaming, seemed to sound his name. A nightingale came and sat in the linden-tree, and the moon peered palely in from behind the dark little bird with the silvery voice singing of lost love and longing. “She means little Hans,” thought Gerta, and two big tears slipped down her cheeks.

At that hour when the world wakes and turns over in its bed to sleep again until sunrise, when the cocks were crowing the shrill high call of the false dawn, she could endure it no longer. Running to the window, she looked out into the dark, starry sky. The air was chill, and she shivered as she began to dress. Taking her little red, hooded cloak, she climbed over the window-sill and out into the linden-tree.

“O mother-linden, do not let me fall!” she whispered, and the rustling new leaves seemed to answer, “Climb down and do not fear.”

Soon Gerta was on the ground, soon across the yard and garden, and into the forest. Strange to say, the trees that seemed so dark from her window seemed now but great lacy fans, through which the stars sparkled like spangles; and a smooth, mossy path lay under her feet, as she hurried on, eager to reach the berg caves.

The trees were now farther apart, and as Gerta went higher, the bare rock began to show, with only a bit of juniper or a stunted fir here and there.

Then the crags overhung her, and in the starlight the little sister climbed and climbed, cold and dizzy. But she kept on until, as she pulled herself up over a ledge, she stumbled over something soft and furry, and sat down with a gasp as a small, squeaky voice said crossly, “Look where you are going, child; you nearly spoiled my fine velvet cloak.” Two bright eyes gleamed at her, and sharp little teeth snapped at her hand.

“Ah, Herr Mole,” cried Gerta, never heeding his bad temper, “tell me, have you seen little Hans? Is he in the kobolds’ cave?”

Herr Mole was not really cross, and he liked Gerta’s respectful address. On her finger shone a thin silver ring.

“Well, now,” answered he, “I have seen him lately, and if you will give me that shining band on your finger for a bracelet, I’ll tell you.”

After slipping it on his front paw, Herr Mole continued:

“Little Hans came this way when the moon was first quarter, and went straight into a band of kobolds making their usual rounds.”

Gerta looked about anxiously. “Do not be afraid; it is too near morning for them now. They carried him inside the berg, and if you will go to the entrance up above us there, my friend, the great white owl, will no doubt help you find him.”

So saying, Herr Mole hurried away, turning his paw this way and that to get a good look at his new bracelet.

At the mouth of the cave, Gerta was stopped by a stern “Who--Who are you?” And there were two fiery balls of light above her head in the center of the dark arch. But it was only the great white owl, who came down at her call and was very polite when he heard she had been sent by his crony, Herr Mole. “Oh, yes,” he had seen little Hans go by with the kobolds; but Gerta must give him that shining clasp at her throat before he would tell her how to follow. Gerta slipped off the little brass cloak clasp and hung it around his neck on her hair-ribbon.

The great white owl then led her inside the cave and showed her a point of light far down in its black depths.

“That is the light of the kobolds’ fire, and all day and half the night must little Hans delve coals to keep it bright, for if it should die, the kobolds would all fall asleep and not wake again for a thousand years. Do not be afraid of the dark, little Gerta, for to eyes that really see there is no darkness.”

Then Gerta noticed that, though all was black as night, she could see quite well indeed, and she left the great white owl sitting like a big ball of down, his eyes rolling like yellow moons as he craned his great round head to admire his necklace.

Walking resolutely on over the slippery, mossy stones, Gerta was finally stopped by a whirr and a shrill “Cheet--cheet,” like the twit of a swallow and a mouse’s squeak combined. Something big and dark fanned her cheek, and down flew a big black bat, menacing her with sharp teeth and extended claws.

“Good evening, Frau Bat,” cried Gerta in a trembling tone, for the bat looked very big and fierce. “Have you seen little Hans? The great white owl sent me this way in search of him!”

Frau Bat drew back, mollified by this respectful address. “Indeed, child, I have seen little Hans. I know you both from having flitted past your attic window many an evening as you went to bed. But before I tell you news of him, you must give me that pretty red cloak to line my nest.”

So Gerta gladly laid the cloak at Frau Bat’s feet, who directed her how to slip unseen into the kobold hall, and gave her this counsel:

“Do not speak, laugh, or eat while you are in the hall! Put this bit of my fur into your shoe, and you will be invisible to all but little Hans. And if you can find a way to quench the kobold fires, they will all fall asleep for a thousand years, and little Hans will be free.”

Thanking her kindly, Gerta passed on, and finally came into a large hall, where glittering pendants hung from the high rocky ceiling; and all around the room sat queer little brown men, with long beards and pointed caps, wherein a tiny lamp glared. Taller and stouter and with a far longer beard of snowy white, sat the kobold king on a golden throne, with a crown of gold on his head; and his light burned brighter than all the rest.

Before each kobold was a little table laid with a fair white cloth, whereon were rich foods in golden dishes and silver goblets of sparkling wine. In the center of the hall was a sort of iron brazier of giant size, and in it flamed a great fire. From time to time a stooped black figure toiled up from a pit behind the king’s throne with a sack of coal on its back, and when it came shrinking into the light, jeered and taunted by the kobolds, poor Gerta thought her heart would break, for the poor slave who fed the fire was little Hans dressed in sooty rags and his fair face and yellow locks black as ink. He rarely lifted his head, but as he turned for more fuel, a kobold, rougher than the rest, pushed him against the brazier, and they laughed at his scream of pain as the burning sleeve scorched his arm. Gerta, forgetful of everything, ran behind the little man, and, catching him by his beard, pounded him over the head with his heavy silver cup.

Then they all jumped from their seats, rushing about to find what had hurt their comrade; but, Gerta, invisible, had slipped through the crowd, beckoned little Hans to follow her, and run down into the coal pit, where she stifled her brother’s cries of joy in her apron.

As it was nearly dawn, the time when the kobolds sleep for an hour, they were left alone, for each kobold fell asleep right where he sat or stood as the sun began to rise, and the sister and brother plotted and planned, though she could speak only by signs, until Hans was again driven to his task, and they began the day’s work of digging the precious ore inside the mountains, and melting it into ingots of gold and silver.

How hungry poor Gerta grew as the day went on! Fortunately, she had in her pocket a bit of bread and cheese left from last night’s supper; but as night came on again and the fairy tables came up out of the floor at a nod from the kobold king, it was all she could do not to snatch a bit of the rich food they threw about, those more kind even tossing bits to their little slave.

Hungry, and fearing discovery, in spite of the bat fur in her shoe, Gerta sat all the evening behind the kobold king’s throne, plotting and planning some way to put out the fire, as she could not take Hans away with her, for he was not invisible, and a kobold lamp glowed in the cap fitted on his head with a magic word, so that it would not come off, however hard they pulled.

“I must have help, or I’ll never do it,” she said to herself as the long, dark day dragged on. “I’ll go to Frau Bat and see what she can say.”

So back went little Gerta, climbing up the long, slippery way from the mine until she found Frau Bat asleep, hanging head downward in a most alarming way. She was so vexed at being waked that she squeaked and showed all her sharp little teeth, and only said crossly, “I told you if the fires went out, they’d all fall asleep and never wake up.” Nor would she say one word more, it mattered not how much Gerta begged.

Finally, in despair, she went farther up, to the cave’s mouth. Over the door the white owl was perched, like Frau Bat, asleep. When she had wakened him by standing on tiptoe and tweaking his tail feathers, he said “Hoo--hoo” very loudly, and would have fallen asleep again, when she cried, “O sir, how can we put out the kobolds’ fire?”

“Fire?” said he, sleepily. “Why water puts out fire. Any _dummkopf_ knows that, girl!”

And to sleep he went, and though she even dared throw some small pebbles up at him, he never stirred or opened his eyes, until, in despair, she went outside, almost blinded by the lovely evening sunshine that flooded the crags with light and made every leaf and berry as bright as a jewel in a queen’s diadem.

After some searching among the rocks, she found Herr Mole’s house, where he, too, was curled asleep in his fine, black velvet cloak, with her ring shining on his little black paw in fine style. He was sleepily stupid, and all he could answer to her questioning as to how she was to get water on to the kobolds’ fire was, “On top of the mountain there’s a spring. Go away, child; if I lose my regular sleep, my cloak loses its gloss.”

In vain Gerta begged him to tell her how a spring on top of the mountain could help her put out the kobolds’ fires far underground; all he would do was to yawn and keep murmuring, “I must get my sleep--I must get my sleep.”

It was getting along toward evening, and Gerta could see the smoke from her home curling up, a faint blue streak against the rosy sky. She was hungry and discouraged; but she reasoned that if she went home, they would not let her return, nor, indeed, believe any of her queer adventures. So, not knowing what else to do, she climbed up on the bergside, pausing now and then to eat the berries which jeweled the bushes on every side. When she had climbed a long way, she heard a great screeching and flapping of wings over her head, and looking up, saw a great eagle flying about, uttering the most piercing cries. Then she saw the trouble it was in. One of its young had fallen from the nest, and its legs had caught under a stone that its fall dislodged. And there it lay, almost at Gerta’s feet, its bright little eyes glazing and its little beak only croaking feebly. Taking the stone in both hands, Gerta dropped it over the cliff. She then lifted the young bird in her apron, and, climbing up on a high ledge, laid it down, where the old birds soon ministered to it; and after a while, Gerta saw it rise and hop feebly about.

Then the eagle cried down to Gerta, in its high, harsh voice, “Thank you, child. If you need help, call for the eagles, and you shall find it near at hand by the time of a wing’s fanning.”

On climbed Gerta in the dying sunshine, determined at least to reach the spring on top of the mountain, as the creatures seemed to think it might aid her, though she had not the faintest gleam of an idea as to how it could do so.

Coming around a sharp corner where stood a small, stout pine-tree, she heard a faint, panting cry, and saw a little red squirrel lying limply against a limb, faint and bleeding, while a large hawk pecked and pierced him with his sharp beak till all poor squirrel’s fuzzy sides were red.

Seizing a stone, Gerta threw it straight and true, and it landed on the hawk’s back with such a bang that, hurt and frightened, he flew away, screaming in disappointment.

“You have saved my life, child,” chattered the squirrel, “and should you need help, call on the squirrel, and he will come.”

Thanking him, Gerta hurried on, and reached a large, dark spring almost on top of the mountain just as the sun went down, and sat down beside it, as the twilight fell, a lonely, tired little soul, almost at the end of her endurance. So she added a few more drops of water to the spring by weeping into it. But then the stars came out, so calm and bright that they seemed to cheer her as she thought how changeless they were. As she glanced back to earth, she saw a gleam from a nearby crevice, and, looking nearer, saw to her wonder that she could look right down into the kobolds’ cave, where the kobolds were about to wake from their day’s rest, and were even now shoving and pushing little Hans about.

“Water puts out fire,” said little Gerta, and clapped her hands at the idea. If she could but turn the waters of the spring down upon the kobolds’ fire! If a channel were made to turn the spring into the cave all at once in one grand splash, out would go the fire, and little Hans would be free!

“Now it’s time for the squirrels to help me,” said Gerta, and she called, “Come, little fuzzy-tails, come and help little Gerta!”

Then from every side came a chattering, bright eyes flashed, plumy tails waved. Strong, tiny claws scratched, scratched, at the loose dirt and stones, and soon the waters of the great spring began to drip, to run, and then--splash! They went down the crevice in the ceiling of the kobolds’ cave, soaking the great brazier with its flaming coals, flooding the cavern deeply all about; and each little brown kobold man sat or lay asleep, just where he was, and little Hans fled quickly up the steep, dark way to the cave’s mouth, free at last!

But now, alas! in the starry darkness Gerta stood alone on the mountain, and the liberated spring had cut a deep chasm between her and the road by which she had come. The round moon rode up the eastern sky and peered kindly at her. She could hear little Hans’ shrill call of “Gerta, O Gerta!” but she could not go to him.

“Oh, now I must have wings to descend, indeed,” cried little Gerta, and clapping her hands she called, “Help from the great eagles!” And, sure enough, black wings flashed between Gerta and the moon, and two great eagles caught her by her stout little homespun gown, and down, down they flew to the cave’s mouth, where the sister and brother were soon clasped in each other’s arms.

“Now home,” said Gerta to little Hans. “And mother will certainly have to give us a hot supper.”