Chapter V (6)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“In Holland there’s gold to be had
For the asking, so wherefore be sad?
Dutch Michael has gold, glitt’ring gold,
Come to him, then, for riches untold.”

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

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

“I stood beside a little hut,
Just where the pine-trees grow,
Peeped in for my beloved,
But her face she would not show.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Owner of all in the pine-woods green,
Many a hundred years thou hast seen,
Thine all the lands where the pine trees grow--
To the Sunday-born thy face now show!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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