The Marvellous History of the Shadowless Man and The Cold Heart Part 12

The story was soon spread throughout the Black-Forest that Charcoal-Peter Munk, or Gambling-Peter, had returned, this time richer than before. And it was the same as it is always: when he was reduced to beggary, they had thrust him from the door in broad daylight; but now, when he once more visited the inn one fine Sunday afternoon, they held out their hands to him, praised his horse, asked him about his travels, and when he sat down to play with Fat Ezekiel with thalers for points, he stood as high in their esteem as ever. He no longer engaged in gla.s.s-making, but in timber dealing, though this was merely a blind.

His real business was corn-selling and money-lending. By degrees nearly half the Black Forest was in his debt; he lent money only at a ruinously high rate of interest, and sold corn only to the poor, to those who could not pay him cash down for it, at three times its value.

He and the bailiff were now on the friendliest terms, and when anybody failed to pay Master Peter Munk to the very day, the bailiff and his myrmidons rode over, made an inventory of all the debtor's belongings and sold him up, driving father, mother and child out into the forest.

At first, these proceedings caused the wealthy Peter some trouble; for the poor outcasts besieged his door, the men begging for time to pay, while their wives sought to move his stony heart by drawing his attention to their children, who were crying for bread. But after he had provided himself with one or two big and savage dogs, there was soon an end to these "cat's concerts," as he termed them. He had but to whistle and call his dogs, and the beggars fled, crying and screaming, in all directions.

His chief annoyance was the "old woman"--who was none other than Dame Munk, his own mother. She had lived in misery and want from the day when they had sold up her house and home; and now her son, though he had come back rich, no longer took any notice of her. Yet she, old, feeble and broken down, would come from time to time and stand, leaning on her stick, in front of his house. She did not now dare to enter, for he had once driven her out. But her greatest grief was that she was compelled to accept the charity of others in order to live, though her own son could have made her old age happy and free from care. But the cold heart was never touched at the sight of those pale well-known features, by their pleading expression, by the withered outstretched hand, by the frail and tottering form. When she knocked at the door on Sat.u.r.days he would draw sixpence from his pocket, grumbling the while, wrap it up in a piece of paper, and send a servant out to her with it.

He caught the sound of her quavering voice as she spoke her thanks and wished him well on this earth; he heard her pant as she shuffled away from his door; then he thought no more of her except to regret that another sixpence had been so profitlessly expended.

At length Peter determined to marry. He knew well that any father in the Black Forest would be glad to let him wed his daughter; but he took pains over his choice, for he wanted everybody to praise his good luck and sense even in this matter. Wherefore he rode about on a round of inspection, visiting several houses in all parts of the forest; but none of the pretty Black Forest maidens seemed to be beautiful enough for him. At last, after having vainly attended all the dance-meetings in his search for a beautiful damsel, he heard one day that the loveliest and most virtuous of all the girls in the forest was the daughter of a poor woodcutter.

She lived quietly and alone, keeping house for her father, was clever and diligent, and never attended a dance, not even at Whitsuntide nor on Dedication Day. When Peter learnt of this jewel of the Black Forest, he resolved to marry her, and rode to the cottage which had been pointed out to him. The father of the lovely girl, whose name was Elspeth, received his distinguished visitor with surprise, but was even more astonished when he discovered that this was the wealthy Peter, and that he was anxious to become his son-in-law. He was not long making up his mind, for he considered that now there would be an end to all his troubles and poverty; therefore, without consulting Elspeth, he gave his consent; and the good child was so obedient that she became Dame Peter Munk without a murmur of dissent.

But it did not turn out so well for the poor girl as she had expected.

She thought she knew how to keep house, but in nothing could she please Master Peter. She was sorry for poor people, and as her husband was a rich man, she considered it no crime to give a penny to a beggar-woman, or to offer an old man a "schnaps." But one day Master Peter, who had been watching her, spoke to her roughly and angrily: "Why are you wasting my fortune on rascals and vagabonds? Did you bring anything with you into the house that you might give away? In your father's house there was not enough broth to go round, and yet you are now throwing money about as if you were a princess! Let me catch you once more, and you shall feel the weight of my hand."

The lovely Elspeth wept in her room over her husband's ill-nature, and she often wished she were back again in her father's mean cottage instead of having to live in the house of the rich, avaricious and hard-hearted Peter. Even had she known that he had a heart of marble, and could never love anybody, not even herself, she would not have been so greatly surprised. Whenever she sat in the porch and a beggar pa.s.sed by, taking off his hat and asking for alms, she shut her eyes in order not to see his wretchedness; she clenched her fist as if to keep her hand from straying against her will into her pocket in order to bestow a farthing or so. And so it came about that people throughout the forest began to speak despitefully of the beautiful Elspeth, saying that she was even more miserly than Peter Munk.

But one day Elspeth was sitting in front of the house, spinning and humming a little song, for she was in good spirits, the day was fine, and her husband, Peter, had ridden away across the country. And as she sat there, there came along the road a little old man, who was carrying a great heavy sack, and she could hear him panting from a long way off.

Dame Elspeth regarded him sympathetically, thinking the while that such a little old man should not have to carry so heavy a burden.

Meanwhile the little man, panting and staggering, drew near, and as he pa.s.sed Elspeth, he nearly broke down under the weight of the sack. "Ah, have mercy, good lady, and give me a drink of water!" said the little man; "I can go no further, and feel ready to perish."

"But at your age you ought not to carry such a heavy load," said Elspeth.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Oh, have mercy, good lady and give a drink of water.]

"But I must run errands; I am so poor, and I have to earn my living somehow," he replied. "Surely so rich a lady as yourself can never know how hard it is to be poor, and how welcome would be a fresh drink on such a hot day."

Hearing this, she hurried indoors, took down a jug and filled it with water; but as she was returning, and was only a few paces away from him, she noticed how wretched and miserable the little man looked, and how he had sunk in exhaustion on his sack. This filled her with pity for him, and, the thought occurring to her that her husband was not at home, she put down the jug of water, took a goblet and filled it with wine, and carried it, with a loaf of good rye-bread, out to the old man. "There!" she said, "as you are so very old a draught of wine will do you much more good than water. But don't drink it so quickly, and eat a little of the bread with it."

The little man looked at her in astonishment, then great tears gathered in his eyes, and he spoke: "I am very old, but I have seen few people who were so compa.s.sionate and who have known so well how to dispense charity as you, Dame Elspeth. And therefore it will go well with you on this earth, such a heart as yours shall not lack its reward."

"Nay, and her reward she shall have on this very spot," cried a terrible voice. Both turned, and there stood Peter, his face crimson with rage.

"Not only do you offer my best wine to beggars, but you bring it out in my own goblet so that it may be contaminated by the lips of vagabonds!

There--take your reward!" Elspeth fell at his feet, imploring pardon; but the stony heart knew no mercy; he swung the whip which he held in his hand, and with the ebony handle of it struck the beautiful forehead uplifted to him. Elspeth sank lifeless into the old man's arms.

When he saw her fall, Peter bent over her to see if she still lived. It was as if he repented the deed for a moment. And as he looked, the little man spoke to him in a well-known voice: "Don't trouble yourself, Charcoal-Peter; this was the most beautiful and most lovable flower in the forest; you have struck it down, and it will never bloom again."

All the blood left Peter's face as he replied: "So, it is you, Master Guardian? Well, what has been done cannot be undone, and it was bound to happen thus. But I hope you won't accuse me before the justices as a murderer."

"Wretch!" answered the Gla.s.smanikin. "What profit could it be to me to bring your mortal body to the gallows? It is no earthly judge that you have to fear, but another and sterner Judge; for you have sold your soul to the Evil One."

"And if I have sold my heart," shrieked Peter, "then n.o.body is to blame but yourself and your illusory gifts. Malicious spirit that you are, you led me on to my destruction; it was you who drove me to seek help of that other, and you will have to answer for it."

But scarcely had he uttered these words than the Gla.s.smanikin suddenly began to increase in size and stature, his eyes became as big as soup-plates, and his mouth was as a glowing furnace, flames darting from between his lips. Peter sank to his knees, and even his stone-heart did not prevent his limbs from trembling like an aspen.

With vulture-like claws the forest spirit seized Peter by the neck, swung him round like dried leaves in a whirlwind, and flung him to earth with such force that all his ribs cracked.

"Earth-worm!" cried the spirit in a voice that rolled like thunder; "I could smash you to atoms if I would, for you have blasphemed against the lord of the forest. But for this dead woman's sake, who gave me food and drink, I give you eight days' grace. If you do not repent I will come and crush your bones to powder, and send you hence in your sins."

It was not until nightfall that some men, who happened to be pa.s.sing that way, spied the wealthy Peter Munk lying stretched on the ground.

They turned him over, seeking to discover if he yet lived; and for a long time he gave no sign. At last, one of them went to a house and fetched some water. After they had dashed some in his face, Peter drew a deep breath, groaned and opened his eyes. He gazed about him, and then asked for his wife, Elspeth; but no one had seen her. He thanked the men for their a.s.sistance, rose and crept into his house, where he hunted high and low for Elspeth, but without finding her; and he now knew that what he had hoped had been only a terrible dream was a grim reality. In his loneliness strange thoughts occurred to him. He feared nothing, for his heart was insensible to that emotion; but whenever he thought of his wife's death, he could not help but contemplate his own probable destiny; when his hour arrived to quit the world, how heavily laden he would be with the tears and curses of the poor who could not soften his heart, with the wails of those wretched beings at whom he had set his dogs, and, yet more, how he would have to bear the weight of his mother's silent despair, and the blood of his good and beautiful wife. And what sort of answer would he give the old man, his father-in-law, if he should come and demand: "Where is my daughter, your wife?" And how should he answer Another, to Whom all belongs--woods, seas, hills and the lives of human beings?

[Ill.u.s.tration: "His eyes became as big as soup plates and his mouth as a glowing furnace."]

The thought of it haunted his dreams; and every now and then he was awakened by the sound of a sweet voice calling to him: "Peter, get yourself a warmer heart!" And when thus awakened, he would quickly close his eyes again, for the voice was that of Elspeth, warning him.

In order to distract his thoughts he sought the tavern, and there he met Fat Ezekiel. He took a seat opposite him, and they started talking on various topics: the fine weather, the war, the taxes, and at last about death and what happened afterwards. Ezekiel replied that the body is buried while the soul ascends to Heaven or descends to h.e.l.l.

"Then they bury one's heart with one?" asked Peter with intense interest.

"Certainly, that's buried with us."

"But if a man has no heart?" Peter went on. Ezekiel stared at him in terror. "What do you mean by that? Are you trying to make a fool of me?

Do you suggest that I have no heart?"

"Oh, you have a heart right enough--as hard as stone," replied Peter.

Ezekiel looked at him in amazement, then glanced around to make sure n.o.body was within earshot, and spoke: "How do you know that? Perhaps, your own heart beats no longer?"

"It beats no more;--at least, not here in my breast," answered Peter.

"But tell me, now you know what I mean, what will happen to our hearts?"

"My dear fellow, why worry about it?" Ezekiel laughingly remonstrated.

"You have plenty to go through this life with, and that is all one wants. That is just the comfort of having a cold heart; we can never feel any fear at such thoughts."

"That's true enough; but one cannot help thinking of such things, even though one feels no dread of them; and I can well remember how terribly afraid of h.e.l.l I used to be when I was a little innocent boy."

"Well--it is certain that it will not go well with us hereafter," said Ezekiel. "I once asked a schoolmaster about it, and he told me that, after death, our hearts are weighed to find out how much they are burdened with sins committed. The light ones mount upwards; the heavy ones sink downwards; and our stone hearts will weigh a good bit, I'm thinking."

"That's very probable," replied Peter; "and I often feel very uneasy that my heart is so indifferent and unfeeling whenever such thoughts occur to me."

The night following this conversation Peter heard the well-known voice whisper five or six times in his ear: "Peter! get yourself a warmer heart!"

Although he felt no remorse that he had killed her, yet when he told his servants that his wife had gone on a journey, he could not help thinking: "Ah, but whither has she gone?"

Six days pa.s.sed in this manner; every night he heard the voice, while the little forest-spirit's terrible threat rang continually in his ears. On the seventh morning he sprang out of bed, crying: "Come, I will see if I can get a warmer heart, for this insensible stone in my breast makes life too wearisome and dull for anything!"

He put on his best clothes, mounted his horse and rode off to the Pine-grove.

Having arrived at the spot where the pines grew thickest, he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and then strode swiftly to the summit of the hill, and taking his stand before the great pine, he repeated the old rhyme:

"Guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold.

Art many hundred ages old; Lord of all lands where pine trees grow, Thee only Sunday's children know."

And then the Gla.s.smanikin appeared, but not friendly and cordial as before, but sad and mournful. He was clad in a little coat of black gla.s.s, and a long mourning band trailed from his hat; and Peter knew well enough for whom he mourned.

"What do you want with me, Peter Munk?" he asked in a hollow voice.

"I have still one wish left, Master Guardian," replied Peter, casting down his eyes.