Posts Tagged ‘german traditions’

The Heart of Stone

Posted by Kerry on July 9th

Why is this Black Forest tale here? Simply because I really like it. This is "The Heart of Stone" from Zigzag Journeys in Northern Lands by Hezekiah Butterworth, 1884.

THE HEART OF STONE

The Black Forest, from time out of mind, has abounded with stories of phantoms, demons, genii, and fairies. The dark hue of the hills, the shadowy and mysterious recesses, the lonely ways, the beautiful glens, all tend to suggest the legends that are associated with every mountain, valley, and town. The old legends have filled volumes. One of the most popular of recent stories of the Black Forest is the “Marble Heart; or, the Stone-cold Heart,” by Hauff.

Wilhelm Hauff, a writer of wonderful precocity, genius, and invention, was born at Stuttgart in 1809. He was designed for the theological profession, and entered the University of Tübingen in 1820. He had a taste for popular legends, and published many allegorical works. He died before he had completed his twenty-sixth year.

There once lived a widow in the Black Forest, whose name was Frau Barbara Munk. She had a boy, sixteen years old, named Peter, who was put to the trade of charcoal-burner, a common occupation in the Black Forest.

Now a charcoal-burner has much time for reflection; and as Peter sat at his stack, with the dark trees around him, he began to cherish a longing to become rich and powerful.

“A black, lonely charcoal-burner,” he said to himself, “leads a wretched life. How much more respected are the glass-blowers, the clock-makers, and the musicians!”

The raftsmen of the forest, too, excited his envy. They passed like giants through the towns, with their silver buckles, consequential looks, and clay pipes, often a yard long. There were three of these timber-dealers that he particularly admired. One of them, called “Fat Hesekiel,” seemed like a mint of gold, so freely did he use his money at the gaming-tables at the tavern. The second, called “Stout Schlurker,” was both rich and dictatorial; and the third was a famous dancer.

These traders were from Holland. Peter Munk, the young coal-burner, used to think of them and their good fortune, when sitting alone in the pine forests. The Black Foresters were people rich in generous character and right principle, but very poor in purse. Peter began to look upon them and their homely occupations with contempt.

“This will do no longer,” said Peter, one day. “I must thrive or die. Oh, that I were as much regarded as rich Hesekiel or powerful Schlurker, or even as the King of the Dancers! I wonder where they obtain their money!”

There were two Forest spirits, of whom Peter had heard, that were said to help those who sought them to riches and honor. One was Glassmanikin, a good little dwarf; and the other was Michael the Dutchman,—dark, dangerous, terrible, and powerful,—a giant ghost.

Peter had heard that there was a magic verse, which, were he to repeat it alone in the forest, would cause the benevolent dwarf, Glassmanikin, to appear. Three of the lines were well known,—

“O treasure-guarder, ’mid the forests green,
Many, full many a century hast thou seen:
Thine are the lands where rise the dusky pine—”

He did not know the last line, and, as he was but a poor poet, he was unable to make a line to fill the sense, metre, and rhyme.

He inquired of the Black Foresters about the missing line, but they only knew as much as he, else many of them would have called the fairy banker to their own service.

One day, as he was alone in the forest, he resolved to repeat, over and over, the magic lines, hoping that the fourth line would in some way occur to him.

“O treasure-guarder, ’mid the forests green,
Many, full many a century hast thou seen:
Thine are the regions of the dusky pine.”

As he said these words he saw, to his astonishment, a little fellow peep around the trunk of a tree; but, as the fourth line did not come to him, Mr. Glassmanikin disappeared.

Peter went home, with his mind full of visions. Oh, that he were a poet! He consulted the oldest wood-cutters, but none of them could supply the missing line.

Soon after, Peter again went into the deep forest, his brain aching for a rhyme with pine. As he was hurrying along, a gigantic man, with a pole as big as a mast over his shoulder, appeared from behind the pine-trees. Peter was filled with terror, for he felt that it was none other than the giant-gnome, Michael the Dutchman.

Peter in the forest

“Peter Munk, what doest thou here?” he thundered.

“I want to pass this road on business,” said Peter, in increasing alarm.

“Thou liest. Peter, you are a miserable wight, but I pity you. You want money. Accept my conditions, and I will help you. How many hundred thalers do you want?”

“Thanks, sir; but I’ll have no dealings with you: I am afraid of your conditions. I have heard of you already.”

Peter began to run.

The giant strode after him; but there was a magic circle in the forest that he could not pass, and, as he was near it, Peter was able to escape.

A great secret had been revealed to Peter, and he now thought he had the clew to the charm. The good dwarf, Glassmanikin, only helped people who were born on Sunday.

Possessed of this fact, Peter again ventured on into the deep forest. He found himself at last under a huge pine. He stopped there to rest, when suddenly a perfect line and rhyme occurred to him. He leaped into the air with joy, and exclaimed:—

“O treasure-guarder, ’mid the forests green,
Many, full many a century hast thou seen:
Thine are the regions of the dusky pine,
And children born on Sabbath-days are thine.”

A little old manikin arose from the earth at the foot of the pine. He wore a black jerkin, red stockings, and a peaked hat. His face had a kindly expression, and he sat down and began to smoke a blue glass pipe.

“Peter, Peter,” said the fairy, “I should be sorry to think that the love of idleness has brought you hither to me.”

“No; I know that with idleness vice begins. But I would like a better trade. It is a low thing to be a charcoal-burner. I would like to become a glass-blower.”

“To every Sunday-child who seeks my aid, I grant three wishes. If, however, the last wish is a foolish one, I cannot grant it. Peter, Peter, what are your wishes? Let them be good and useful.”

“I wish to dance better than the King of Dancers.”

“One.”

“Secondly, I would always have as much money in my pocket as ‘Fat Hesekiel.’”

“Oh, you poor lad!” said the gnome sadly. “What despicable things to wish for! To dance well, and have money to gamble! What is your third wish?”

“I should like to own the finest glass factory in the forest.”

“O stupid Charcoal Peter! you should have wished for wisdom. Wealth is useless without wisdom to use it. Here are two thousand guldens. Go.”

Peter returned home. At the frolics at the inn, he surpassed the King of Dancers in dancing, and he was hailed with great admiration by the young. He began to gamble at the ale-houses, and was able to produce as much money as Fat Hesekiel himself. People wondered. He next ordered a glass factory to be built, and in a few months Peter Munk was rich and famous and envied. People said he had found a hidden treasure.

But Peter did not know how to use his money. He spent it at the alehouse; and at last, when the money in the pockets of Fat Hesekiel, for some reason, was low, he was unable to pay his debts, and the bailiffs came to take him to prison.

PETER AND THE MANIKIN.

In his troubles he resolved to go again into the deep forest, and seek the aid of the forest gnomes.

“If the good little gnome will not help me,” he said, “the big one will.”

As he passed along, ashamed of his conduct in not having better deserved of the good fairy, he began to cry,—

“Michael the Dutchman! Michael the Dutchman!”

In a few moments the giant raftsman stood before him.

“You’ve come to me at last,” he said. “Go with me to my house, and I will show you how I can be of service to you.”

Peter followed the giant to some steep rocks, and down into an abyss; there was the gnome’s palace.

“Your difficulties come from here,” said the gnome, placing his hands over the young man’s heart. “Let me have your heart, and you shall have riches.”

“Give you my heart?” said Peter; “I should die.”

“No; follow me.”

He led Peter into a great closet, where were jars filled with liquid. In them were the hearts of many who had become rich. Among them were the hearts of the King of the Dancers and of Fat Hesekiel.

“The hinderance to wealth is feeling. I have taken, as you see, the hearts of these rich men. I have replaced them by hearts of stone. You see how they flourish. You may do the same.”

PETER SURPASSED THE KING OF DANCERS.

“A heart of stone must feel very cold within,” said Peter.

“But what is the use of a heart of feeling, with poverty? Give me your heart, and I will make you rich.”

“Agreed,” said Peter.

The giant gave him a drug, which caused stupor. When Peter awoke from the stupor his heart seemed cold. He put his hand on his breast: there was no motion. Then he knew that he had indeed a heart of stone.

Nothing now brought him pleasure or delight. He loved nothing; pitied no one’s misfortunes. Beauty was nothing. He cared not for relatives or friends; but he had money, money. The supply never failed.

He travelled over the world, but everything seemed dead to him. Sentiment was dead within him. He lied, he cheated. He filled many homes with wretchedness and ruin.

At last he became weary of life.

PETER AND THE GIANT.

“I would give all my riches,” he said, “to feel once again love in my heart.”

He resolved to go into the woods and consult the good fairy.

He came to the old pine-tree, —

“O treasure-guarder, ’mid the forests green,
Many, full many a century thou hast seen;
Thine are the regions of the dusky pine,
And children born on Sabbath-days are thine.”

The Glassmanikin came up again, as before. He met Peter with an injured look.

“What wouldst thou?”

“That thou shouldst give me a feeling heart.”

“I cannot. I am not Michael the Dutchman.”

“I can live no longer with this stone heart.”

“I pity you. Take this cross, and go to Michael. Get him to give you back your heart, under some pretext, and when he demands it again show him this cross, and he will be powerless to harm you.”

Peter took the cross and hurried into the deep forest. He called,—

“Michael the Dutchman! Michael the Dutchman!”

The giant appeared.

“What now, Peter Munk?”

“There is feeling in my heart. Give me another. You have been deceiving me.”

“Come to my closet, and we will see.”

The gnome took out the stone heart, and replaced it for a moment by the old heart from the jar. It began to beat. Peter felt joy again. How happy he was! A heart, even with poverty, seemed the greatest of blessings. He would not exchange his heart again for the world.

“Let me have it now,” said the gnome.

But Peter held out the cross. The gnome shrank away, faded, and disappeared.

Peter put his hand on his breast. His heart was beating. He became a wise, thrifty, and prosperous man.