The Marvellous History of the Shadowless Man and The Cold Heart Part 10

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

Bowing low towards the invisible Gla.s.smanikin, just as he had done the day before, he began:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Ill.u.s.tration: You hav'nt quite hit, Charcoal Peter.]

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

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

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

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

"Oh, you stupid Charcoal-Peter!" exclaimed the dwarf, throwing his gla.s.s-pipe angrily against a big pine, where it shattered to atoms.

"Horses! Traps! _Sense_, I say to you, _good sense, sound common-sense and insight_ you should have wished for--not horses and traps. Ah well, don't be so downcast; we will see whether we cannot keep you from coming to harm, for the second wish was not so foolish on the whole. A good gla.s.s-factory will support both master and man; if you had only insight and understanding into the bargain, carriages and horses would have come of themselves."

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

"No, no, Peter. You will find yourself in many an awkward fix yet, when you will be glad that you have still another wish left you. For the present, take yourself homewards. Here are two thousand guilders,"

continued the little forest gnome, drawing a little purse from his pocket. "Be satisfied with them; for if you come here again asking for money, I shall have to hang you to the tallest of yonder pine-trees.

Such has been my custom ever since I came to live in this forest. Old Winkfritz, who owned that large gla.s.s-factory in the lower part of the forest, died three days ago. Go thither early to-morrow morning, and make a bid for the property. Behave yourself, be industrious, and I will visit you from time to time, to be at hand with advice and help, seeing that you did not wish for common-sense. But--and I am now speaking in all seriousness--your first wish was a bad one. Have a care of becoming too fond of the tavern, Peter! it is a place which brings good to n.o.body in the long run!"

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

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

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

Her son soon came to an agreement with the owners of the gla.s.s-factory.

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

But too soon he began to weary of the business; at first, he was at the factory for only one hour per day, then only every other day, and, finally, only once a week, so that his workmen did just as they pleased. And it was all the result of his visits to the tavern. On the Sunday after his return from the Pine-grove, he went into the tavern, and who should be footing it on the dancing floor but the Dance-King; while Fat Ezekiel was already sitting behind a stoup of ale, throwing dice for crown-thalers. At sight of the latter Peter thrust his hands in his pockets to find out if the Gla.s.smanikin had kept his word--and behold! his pockets were stuffed full of gold and silver pieces.

Meanwhile, his legs were twitching and jerking as if they were itching to be dancing; so when the first dance was over, he took up a position with his partner exactly opposite the Dance-King. Whenever the latter sprang three feet into the air, Peter leapt four; and if his rival performed any particularly wonderful or graceful steps, Peter twirled and twisted his feet so that all beholders were well nigh beside themselves with delight and admiration. And when those at the dance heard that Peter had bought a gla.s.s-factory, and when they saw how he flung a small coin to the musicians every time he danced past them, there was no limit to their astonishment. Some were of opinion that he had discovered a treasure in the forest; others held that he must have inherited a fortune; while all paid him honour, and thought him to be a man of position, simply because he had money. He might gamble away twenty guilders in an evening, yet his pockets rattled and jingled just the same, as though they still contained hundreds of thalers. When Peter saw how much he was respected, he did not know how to contain himself, so great was his joy and pride. He threw money about by handsful, and was particularly liberal to the poor, because he himself knew what it was to feel the pinch of poverty. The supernatural ability of the new dancer soon cast all the feats of the Dance-King into the shade, and Peter was now hailed as "Dance-Emperor." The most venturesome gamblers did not stake so recklessly as he did, and therefore did not lose so heavily. But the more he lost, the more he gained--which was quite in accordance with the promise he had obtained from the Gla.s.smanikin. He had wished always to have as much money in his pockets as there was in Fat Ezekiel's, and it was to him he lost most of his money. No matter whether he lost twenty or thirty guilders on a single throw, there they were again in his pocket as soon as Ezekiel had gathered them from the table.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Peter gambling at the Inn.]

But gradually he brought his debauchery and gambling to a degree worse than that of the vilest character in the Black Forest; and he was more often dubbed Gambling-Peter than Dance-Emperor, for he was at the gambling table nearly the whole week through. Meanwhile his gla.s.s-business was going rapidly to rack and ruin, and it was all due to Peter's folly. He manufactured gla.s.s as fast as it could be made; but with the gla.s.s-factory he had not bought the secret how to manage it. In the end he had so much gla.s.s on hand that he did not know what to do with it; and he was forced to sell it at half its value to pedlars in order to find the money wherewith to pay his workpeople. One evening while returning home from the tavern, despite all the wine he had drunk to keep up his spirits, he could not help contemplating with terror and grief the ruin of his fortunes. All at once he noticed that somebody was walking at his side; he looked round, and behold--it was the Gla.s.smanikin. He flew at once into a furious pa.s.sion, bewailing his bad luck and cursing the little man as the cause of all his misfortune.

"What am I to do now with my horses and carts?" he said. "Of what use to me is my factory and all my gla.s.s? Even when I was a miserable charcoal-burner, I was happier, and did not have all these worries.

Now, I am expecting any day to see the bailiffs in my factory to sell me up in order to pay my debts."

"So-ho?" rejoined the Gla.s.smanikin. "So-ho? Then I am to be blamed for your misfortunes? Is this your grat.i.tude for all my kindness to you?

Did I not warn you not to make such foolish wishes. You wished to become a gla.s.s-blower, without having the slightest idea how to sell your gla.s.s. Did I not tell you not to wish too hastily? Common-sense, Peter, Wisdom, that was what you lacked."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

we must be getting home to wife and child."

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

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

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

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

"Good," he cried, "now we shall see." Peter threw eighteen, and as he looked he heard a harsh voice, not unknown to him, mutter in his ear: "So, here we are at the end of it all!" He swung round. There, standing directly behind him, towered the gigantic form of Dutch Michael.

Stricken with surprise and horror he let the money, which he had just picked up from the table, slip through his fingers.

Fat Ezekiel apparently, had not noticed the demon, for he requested Gambling-Peter to lend him ten guilders so that he could go on playing.

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

[Ill.u.s.tration: "So! here we are at the end of it all."]

Meanwhile the landlord and Ezekiel sat staring at him in bewilderment, as he searched himself all over in vain to find some money somewhere.

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

It was pitch-dark, not a star appearing in the sky, as Peter slunk homewards; but the misery which he suffered did not prevent him from recognising a dark form which strode along at his side, and which broke silence, at length, with the following words: "It is all up with you, Peter Munk; all your glory has come to an end; as I would have told you at first, if you had but listened to me instead of running off to that stupid Gla.s.smanikin. Now you can see for yourself what is to be gained by despising my advice. Just try your luck with me for once, for I am very sorry for you in your present miserable condition. n.o.body who comes to me ever repents having done so; and if you are not too afraid to come, I shall be awaiting you all day in the Pine-grove and you have only to call me, and I will come to you."

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