Select Popular Tales from the German of Musaeus/Peter Block
PETER BLOCK;
OR,
THE TREASURE-SEEKER OF THE HARZ.
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N the Tuesday after S. Bartholomew’s-day, the same year that saw the Emperor Wenceslaus’ flight from the prison at Prague, the shepherds at Rottenburg, according to ancient custom, held their annual festival, at which all the country people for several miles round were present. After service at the church of S. Wolfgang, they adjourned to the sign of the Golden Lamb, where they spent the remainder of the day, in quaffing their cups, playing on their rustic instruments, and dancing in the open air.
The younger part of the company had turned homewards; not so, however, the elder shepherds; they continued over their wine till the night was far advanced; and, the generous liquor having loosened their tongues, they began to indulge in lengthy conversation. Some uttered wise predictions as to the weather, on which subject, it may truly be said, they were in no wise inferior to our modern almanack-makers. Others recounted stories of their young days; how they had defended their flocks from the attacks of the wolf, by aid of their faithful companion—the dog; or put to flight the still more terrible were-wolf by devoutly crossing themselves, and repeating a prayer to their patron saint. Some, again, told how they had been led out of their way, through wilds and forests, and had been mocked and deluded by demons and spectres. So fearful were these tales, that they caused the townsfolk to shudder, and made their hair to stand on end with horror. Of these townspeople, no small number attended the festivities of the rustic holidays; and many a tradesman and mechanic betook himself on these evenings to the public room of the Golden Lamb.
No one contributed more to the conversation, on the present occasion, than the silver-haired Martin, a cheerful old man of eighty, who, like the patriarch Jacob, had seen a whole race of shepherds descended from himself. When the room was somewhat cleared of the company, he called for a cup, by way of farewell before retiring; not displeased, moreover, to find that, in the comparative quietness, it would now be in his power to make himself more easily heard.
“My good friends,” said he, “you have, without doubt, been relating wonderful things; nor have they, I well believe, lost anything of their marvels by savouring a little of the wine-cup. I could tell you, however, of an affair, which, without embellishment, will appear still more remarkable than any of the tales you have related; but the night is now far advanced, and I should not be able to finish it.”
All were silent, and such was the deep attention of the auditory, that you might have fancied the Bishop of Bamburg reading mass. When he paused, however, there were voices enough to be heard: “Father Martin, let us hear this adventure of thine; do not deprive us of such a pleasure on a holiday-night.” Some of the townsmen, too, who had been preparing to go, turned back, and besought the old man to relate his marvels. These solicitations at last induced Martin to yield, and he spoke as follows:—
“In my young days, I was a destitute orphan-boy, and had to beg my bread from door to door; there was no place I could call my home, and I wandered about with my bag from village to village. When I grew up to be a lad, I hired myself to a shepherd on the Harz Mountains, with whom I remained three years. One evening, in autumn, ten of our sheep were missing, on which I was sent off to search for them. Night came on without my finding them; and, being unacquainted with the place, and not knowing how to find my way home, I resolved at last to pass the night under a tree. Towards midnight the dog began to howl, and to crouch close to me: I awoke, and, looking up, I saw, by the clear moonlight, a huge figure standing opposite to me, like a tall man, with his body entirely covered with long, shaggy hair. He had a beard reaching to his middle, a garland upon his head, and an apron of oak-leaves, while, in his right hand, he held a fir-tree that had been torn up by the roots. The terrific apparition motioned with his hand that I should follow him: I stirred not from the spot, however, for fear, and stood trembling like an aspen-leaf. He thus exclaimed, in a hoarse growling voice: ‘Coward, take courage; I am the Treasure-keeper of the Harz. Come with me, and thou shalt find a treasure.’ Although my fear threw me into a cold perspiration, I at length roused myself, and, making a sign of the cross, replied, ‘Avaunt; I desire none of thy treasures!’ On this, the figure grinned horribly in my face, and said, ‘Fellow, thou rejectest thy good fortune! continue, then, a miserable wretch all thy days.’ He then turned away as if to depart; but, again approaching me, said, ‘Bethink thee well, thou foolish man; I will fill thy wallet, I will fill thy bag with a precious burden.’—‘It is written,’ I returned, ‘Thou shalt not covet: away from me; I will have no dealings with thee.’
“As the goblin saw that I was not to be enticed by him, he desisted from further importunity, only adding, ‘Thou wilt repent this;’ then looking frightfully at me, after a short pause, he continued, ‘Give heed to what I am now about to say, so that it may yet avail thee, shouldst thou be wise enough to change thy mind. In the Brocken, deep under the earth, is buried an immense treasure of gold and precious stones. This treasure I have watched for seven hundred years; but, from this day forward, it becomes free to be taken by whoever discovers it:—my time is expired. Therefore did I intend to deliver this hoard to you; for, as you have tended your flock on these mountains, I have felt kindly disposed towards you.’ He then acquainted me with the spot where the treasure lay, and described the manner of seeking it.
“‘Proceed,’ said he, ‘towards S. Andrew’s mountain, and there inquire for the valley called the Morgenbrodsthal. When you arrive at a stream called the Duder, follow its course upwards, until you reach a stone bridge, close by a saw-mill. Pass not over the bridge, but still proceed onwards, with the stream on your right, until you see before you a steep and rugged crag. A short distance from this, you will perceive a hollow somewhat resembling a grave. Do not be afraid, but clear it out without apprehension, although it will be no very easy task: you will perceive that it has been purposely filled up with earth. Having discovered the stone sides of the cavern, you will soon meet with a flat stone, built into the wall, and about a yard square. This being forced out, you will find yourself in the entrance of the vault where the treasure lies hid. Having proceeded a little way, you will reach a hall with three doors, two of which are open, but the middle one is fast closed with bolt and bar. You must open the closed door by means of the spring-root, which you must not fail to take along with you; for, without this, the utmost force will avail nothing. Fear not, even though the door should fly open with a crash of thunder; only remember to protect thy lamp, so that it may not be extinguished. You will probably be dazzled by the gold and shining jewels with which the walls and pillars of the vault are adorned, yet stretch not out thy hand to touch them; beware of that as you would of sacrilege. In the midst of this cavern stands a large brazen chest; in it you will find enough both of gold and silver, and you may take as much as you choose. Moreover, it is in your power to return three different times, but not more; on the fourth you would infallibly suffer the chastisement due to your avarice.’ When the figure had ceased, my dog pricked up his ears and began to bark; I heard the sound of wheels at a distance, and, when I looked round me, I perceived that the vision had disappeared.”
The wondrous tale of the old man affected the company in different ways. Some would treat it very lightly:—“Certainly this is a very fine dream, my old friend!” exclaimed they: some, again, gave implicit credence to the story; while others, more cautious, affected to look wise, but kept their opinions to themselves. As for the worthy landlord of the Lamb, he very shrewdly remarked that the proof of the pudding was in the eating; that, let them dispute as much as they pleased, the question, after all, was, had any one been on this pilgrimage, and had he returned with the treasures? Then, addressing the old man,—
“Well, friend! let us hear whether, after all, you visited this cavern, and found what the spirit promised? or did the mischievous goblin only deceive you?”
“Indeed,” replied honest Martin, “I cannot accuse him of deceiving me, since I never took even so much as a single step to seek out the cavern or its treasures. First, I had too much regard for my safety to expose myself to the danger of dealing with a spirit; and, besides, I have never been able to find the spring-root. I know not where it grows, at what time of the year, or what hour of the day, it should be gathered, though I have questioned many persons conversant with every kind of plant.” Here a shepherd, well advanced in years, broke in, and addressing himself to the narrator of the story, said,—
“Neighbour Martin, your secret, I fear, is now somewhat out of date. But if you had had your wits about you some forty years ago, you certainly had not missed procuring the spring-root. I can myself inform you by what means the plant may be obtained. The easiest way is to call in the service of a black woodpecker. Watch one in the spring season, when it makes its nest in a hollow tree, and then, when it flies out to seek food for its young ones, drive a wedge of wood into the hole, whence it has taken its flight. “When it returns, and perceives that the access to its nest is cut off, it will fly round the tree and scream; it will then suddenly direct its flight towards the west. You must take care to be provided beforehand with a scarlet mantle, which conceal under your garment, and wait until the bird returns with the spring-root in its mouth. No sooner will the bird touch the wooden plug with this wondrous plant, than it will immediately fly out, as a cork does from one of mine host’s barrels. Lose no time then, but instantly spread the mantle under the tree. Terrified at the sight, supposing it to be fire, the woodpecker will let fall the root. Having obtained possession of the precious plant, bind it carefully to a piece of christ-thorn, otherwise it will certainly be lost whenever you lay it out of your hand.”
Apart from the social circle of auditors, with no other companion than the cat, one solitary individual had occupied the landlord’s leathern chair, and during the whole evening had observed so strict a silence, that he might rather have seemed a brother of a Carthusian monastery, than the inmate of an inn on a holiday night. This was Master Peter Block, once cook to a worshipful magistrate—an honourable employment long since abandoned—and who now occupied a much more private station; for, during the last ten years, Peter had but too quickly descended the step-ladder; so that he who had formerly contributed to other men’s feasting, was now obliged to practice fasting on his own account. In his former calling, he had been a man of a merry mood, tickling the fancies and the palates of the guests in pretty equal ratio. In the noble science of cooking his talent was unrivalled. There was no dish or culinary compound in which he did not exhibit the utmost skill of a professor. But, unfortunately, our hero would needs dress for himself a sauce that requires more of the ingredient called prudence than any other article in the cookery-book. Peter, in short, sought out for himself a helpmate; and, in evil hour, made choice of one whose unhappy tongue had already gained her the ill-will of the whole town. Whoever came in her way, be it friend or foe, she was sure to load them with abuse; nay, the very saints in the calendar did not always escape her with impunity. Master Block, however, had heard her commended as a thrifty, notable housewife, and he ventured accordingly to espouse this foul-mouthed specimen of the sex denominated fair.
The circumstances of the family soon altered very materially. He had given up his situation of cook, and ventured to open a tavern, in which new calling, however, he was, in the long run, unfortunate. Master Peter had at no time been a proficient in arithmetic; for, of all the rules, the only one in which he succeeded was subtraction; as to addition and multiplication, he could comprehend neither; nor was he much more successful in division. It was too great an exertion for him to keep an exact account of his money affairs; while it lasted, neither kitchen nor cellar went unprovided; his friends, too, were always sure of meeting with the best cheer, long credit, and open house. On the other hand, his kindly, compassionate nature displayed itself equally towards those whose only claim consisted in their inability to pay for their lodging and cheer. When his finances were exhausted, he borrowed money from the usurers; and as he went on, the more did his debts accumulate. The accommodating principle by which, like many other easy, well-disposed people, he found it convenient to regulate his conduct, was, that all would turn out right at last. But, at the last, however, Master Peter found that he had turned all the money out of his pockets, and himself out of doors; for, to the regret of all his good friends and boon companions, he was obliged to strike and take down his sign.
Under these unfortunate circumstances, therefore, he was compelled to become a dependant upon his wife, who set up a small flour trade; and, as an ass was an indispensable adjunct to her establishment, Peter had to act as substitute for that well-behaved animal. Without the least compunction, the dame loaded the shoulders of her partner with many a heavy sack of flour, which he was obliged to carry to the mill, although not without groaning under the unaccustomed weight; but even these services did not always obtain the best of recompense, for most sparingly did she mete out to him his provender, and not unfrequently did this female vixen let him feel, too, the additional weight of her fist, whenever he ventured to complain of the weight of the sacks.
Such conduct afflicted greatly the affectionate nature of his excellent daughter, and drew from her in secret many a bitter tear. She was an only child, and dear as the apple of his eye to her father, who had trained her, from her very childhood, in his own ways; she therefore repaid all his affection with the most submissive filial love, and consoled him under all his domestic afflictions. The amiable Gertrude supported herself by needlework, especially embroidery, in which she had attained a great proficiency. She worked the robes used by priests at mass, altar draperies, and those variegated and fancifully-figured cloths, with which it was then the fashion to cover tables. Although obliged to give her mother a strict account of all her earnings, she nevertheless sometimes contrived to lay by a trifling sum, which she secretly presented to her father, in order that he might occasionally visit the Golden Lamb, and at least be able to feast now and then. Previously to this rustic festival, she had doubled her usual savings, and joyfully slipped them into her father’s hand as he returned one evening from his labours at the mill. This kindness on the part of his child touched his very soul, and so affected him, that the tears came into his eyes.
During old Martin’s tale of wonder, Peter dismissed every other thought, in order to catch it with a ready ear. The farther the narrator proceeded, the more eagerly did he listen. At first, it was merely curiosity that induced him to listen; but when he heard how the spring-root, the charm which was to give access to the treasure, was to be obtained, his imagination was completely inflamed. He instantly pictured himself standing before the brazen chest, and shovelling the bright gold pieces into his sack, and he quickly determined to rest all his hopes of fortune on the success of his journey to the Brocken.
Covetousness and avarice were by no means Peter’s failings; as long as his prosperity lasted his money passed lightly through his fingers; the more difficult, therefore, was it for him afterwards to bear his indigence with tolerable patience. Whenever, therefore, he indulged in dreams of wealth, it was principally in order that he might resign his post of proxy to a beast of burden, and that he might no longer be obliged to carry sacks to the mill, but have it in his power to bestow a handsome dowry upon his dear Gertrude. Even before he had quitted the host’s leathern chair, he had arranged every detail of his projected plan, except what regarded the funds necessary to accomplish it; and had even fixed upon the day for carrying it into execution.
Peter quitted the Golden Lamb as joyously as if he had obtained there the golden fleece itself. The only circumstance that now disturbed his happiness was, that he had not the magic root yet in his possession; and when he considered that the black woodpecker did not build its nest in those parts, he became as melancholy as if suddenly roused from a delightful fairy vision. Recovering himself, however, he struck a light, and, taking pen and ink, set down, from beginning to end, the whole process of obtaining the treasure, so that not a tittle might escape his memory. This being done, he felt his hope somewhat revived, trusting that, although he might be obliged to perform the part of ass for another winter, the time would yet come when he should be able to discontinue his sorrowful pilgrimages to the mill.
Full fifty times had our good Peter witnessed the return both of the stork and the swallow, without paying any attention to it; and as often, too, had he, on Maundy Thursday, served up to his friends a mess of cresses and other herbs, and the first produce of the spring, without even tasting them himself. But now he would not have exchanged for the best Martinmas goose, the first sorry cabbage which his frugal housewife dished for him the following spring; and no sooner did he observe the first return of the swallow, than he celebrated the wished-for event in a flask of wine, at the Golden Lamb. He now laid by every penny of the secret money with which he was supplied by his daughter, in order that he might have wherewith to reward the first lucky wight who should inform him where to find a black woodpecker’s nest. He even retained a scout or two in his service, whom he sent to reconnoitre the forest for this purpose. The wicked fellows would sometimes, however, make an April fool of him, by sending him many a mile, over hill and dale, where his labour was at length rewarded by meeting a raven’s or a squirrel’s nest in the hollow tree to which he had been directed; and, if he pretended to be angry at this waggery, they would laugh in his face, and run off. At length, one of these scouts, less knavish as well as more fortunate than the rest, having actually met with a black woodpecker that had pitched its nest on an old decayed tree, arrived post haste with the important news. Our anxious ornithologist instantly flew off, as swiftly as if transformed into a bird himself, to ascertain the correctness of the report. His guide conducted him to a tree, where he saw a bird fly to and fro, which seemed to have its nest there; yet the black woodpecker, not belonging to any of those genera of birds which culinary ornithologists study, and being also less sociable in its nature than either the sparrow or swallow, and less familiar to him than either the capon or goose, he was doubtful how far the information was correct; for, to tell the truth, he was quite as well acquainted with the phœnix itself as with the black woodpecker. Fortunately, a fowler, who was then passing, extricated him from his perplexity, and gave a decision on the point, which fully satisfied our bird-hunter.
When it appeared to him to be full season to set about his great work, he began by hunting out a red cloak; unfortunately, but a single article of the kind was to be found in the whole town, and this was in the possession of a person to whom people are usually somewhat reluctant in applying—namely, that public functionary the executioner. It cost him no little exertion to overcome his scruples; nevertheless, the urgency of the case compelled him. Provided then with this indispensable part of his apparatus, our friend set out to execute strictly, according to the prescribed formula, the ceremony which was to put him in possession of the mystic plant. All proceeded exactly as had been predicted; and, when the woodpecker came back with the root in its mouth, Peter suddenly advanced from behind the tree, and performed his manœuvre with such rapidity and dexterity, that, in its terror at sight of the flame-coloured mantle, the bird let fall the root, which he immediately seized, and wrapped up in a bunch of christ-thorn; and then proceeded homewards as overjoyed as if he had been already in possession of the wished-for treasure.
His travelling equipage was soon put in readiness, being only a sturdy staff, and a large and stout bag. It happened fortunately that, on the day fixed for his emigration, both Dame Ilse and Gertrude were gone to a convent of Ursulines, to see a nun take the veil; Peter availed himself of this opportunity to desert his post, he having been placed sentinel during the absence of the female part of the garrison.
Just as he was about to bestow a parting look on his household deities, it occurred to him that it would not be at all imprudent were he first of all to make a preparatory trial of his talisman, in order to satisfy himself of its efficacy. His worthy dame had in her chamber a cabinet built into the wall, in which shrine she kept certain golden relics, most religiously guarded under seven locks, the keys of which she constantly wore about her person by way of an amulet. Not having been allowed to hold a committee of inquiry on the state of his wife’s financial arrangements, Peter was altogether ignorant of these private funds, although he had some suspicion that a secret hoard existed somewhere: as soon, therefore, as this cabinet met his eye, his heart acted the part of a divining rod. With a bosom throbbing with anxious expectation for the success of the experiment he was about to make, he took out the root, and touched the door of the shrine. To his rapturous astonishment the seven locks immediately unbolted, and the door flew open with a crash, when there was displayed to his greedy gaze the store of bright seducing mammon, from whose snare his worthy partner took such pains to secure him. At first, he hardly knew whether to be more delighted at the proved efficacy of the magic root, or at the treasure which he had discovered, but stood himself rooted to the spot, as if the secret spell had transformed him to a statue. At length, he bethought himself in earnest of his intended pilgrimage, and, being luckily furnished with this treasure for his journey, he departed on his expedition of discovery, in the highest possible spirits.
On their return, the females greatly wondered to find the house shut up, and the trusty sentinel nowhere to be found. To all their knocking and calling no reply was returned except by the mewing of a cat. Not being provided with so efficacious a key as the spring-root, the dame was obliged to have recourse to commoner means, and to apply to a locksmith. While the smith was employed in opening the door, the dame was equally busied in preparing sundry sharp epithets with which she intended to salute her unfortunate husband, whom she deemed to be sleeping at his post; but, alas! on opening the door, no sleeper was to be found.
Midday, evening, and midnight came in succession: still they brought not Peter Block. The business now grew serious, and mother and daughter held a solemn council as to the causes of this sudden absconding. The strangest conjectures were made; and, as that gloomy hour naturally suggested more alarming and mournful ideas, even Dame Ilse felt some compunctious visitings of conscience. “Alas,” exclaimed she, wringing her hands, “I fear, Gertrude, thy father has come to an untimely end.” All the ditches, and ponds, not forgetting the milldam, were scrutinized, and still no trace whatever of the lost sheep. So that, at length, the good dame resigned herself to her widowed state, and began to look out for a successor to Master Peter in his asinine duties, and to purchase a four-footed beast of burden to replace the biped. Having met with one to her satisfaction, and settled the price, she went to draw the sum upon her treasury, and for this purpose unlocked its well-secured door. But what could equal her horror at perceiving the dreary scene it displayed! For some minutes did she stand as in a mute trance; at length the dreadful conviction flashed upon her mind. Of what nature were the exclamations and apostrophes that now rolled in full torrent from her tongue, it is easy to divine.
About a month after this domestic catastrophe, a knock at the door announced some one’s arrival: Dame Ilse hastened to open it in the expectation of a customer, when there entered a young man, apparently a person of some consequence and of prepossessing address; his attire was that of a country gentleman. The youth expressed his joy at seeing her so well, and inquired kindly after her daughter, although the dame could not remember to have seen him before. She found the visit, however, intended rather for Gertrude than herself; still she invited the stranger in, and having offered him a seat, inquired his business. With a mysterious air he requested permission to speak with the fair needle-woman of whose work report spoke so high, as he had a commission to deliver to her. Dame Ilse had certain shrewd conjectures as to what this commission might be; yet, as the interview would be in her own presence, she summoned the industrious maiden from her task. On perceiving the visitor, the modest Gertrude blushed, and bent her eyes on the ground. Familiarly taking her hand, the youth cast on her a gaze of tenderness that by no means dissipated her confusion: nevertheless, anticipating his salutation, she exclaimed, “Ah Frederic! how came you here? I deemed that you were now a hundred miles from hence. You know my sentiments, and yet you are returned to disturb me again.”—“No, dear Gertrude, rather I am come to ensure the happiness of us both. My condition is now altered, and I am no longer the poor youth I once was. A wealthy relation lately died and left me all his ample possessions; I need not therefore any longer anticipate your mother’s opposition. That I love thee I know full well: that thou lovest me, I venture to hope.”
During this speech the maiden’s blue eyes assumed a livelier expression, and, at the last sentence, her beautiful mouth displayed a faint smile; at the same time she stole a side glance at her mother, to ascertain what were her thoughts on the subject. She seemed wrapt in thought, so great was her astonishment to discover that the bashful girl had been carrying on a love affair without her having the least suspicion of it. The maiden never went abroad, save accompanied by herself; while, at home, under her Argus eye, there was no opportunity; and the good dame was perfectly satisfied that not the most scheming gallant would be able to gain access to Gertrude. The event, however, proved the contrary; and Dame Ilse now learnt that the heart of a daughter, though so well guarded by her caution and experience, was no safer than a hoard of gold secured by seven locks.
Before she could finish her mental comments on this strange discovery, the suitor produced the most satisfactory authority for his boldness, by spreading out on the table a heap of sparkling gold pieces, whose brilliancy so dazzled the vision, both corporeal and intellectual, of the discreet matron, that she could no longer see either the lovers themselves, or the harm they had committed. Gertrude was now quite relieved from the apprehension of witnessing her lover exorcised as an unclean spirit, and doomed to repass the threshold. The good wife considered that beauty is an article not greatly improved by keeping; that, therefore, for such fading ware, it is better to take the first good customer that offers. She opined also that a marriageable daughter was to the full as safe under a husband’s guardianship as her own. She had therefore already prepared her maternal consent, fit to be produced as soon as the suitor should solicit it: and very readily gave her yea and amen to the proposals of the wealthy wooer.
The treaty of marriage was quickly arranged. On being accepted as such, the joyous bridegroom, sweeping half the gold into his hat, threw it into the lap of the bride, as her marriage portion; the other half he as liberally scattered in a golden shower into the bosom of the greedy matron, whose dry countenance instantly acknowledged its influence.
The wedding-day was now fixed, and half the town received invitations to the feast, which was to be celebrated in the most spacious apartment of the Golden Lamb. As Gertrude was putting on her bridal wreath, she could not help saying, “This wreath would delight me, indeed, were but my good father here to conduct me to church. Would to Heaven that he were here with us once again! While we now enjoy all the blessings of Providence, what may he not be suffering;—if indeed he is still alive?” Even Dame Ilse could not now help expressing some regret, although some of it might probably arise from the want she experienced of having some one on whom to vent her spleen.
The eve of the great day had now arrived, when some one stopped before the house with a wheelbarrow, and knocked at the door. The bride opened the window to inquire what the stranger wanted, and, to her surprise, discovered that it was even her father himself!
All now was tumultuous joy: Gertrude rushed down and threw herself upon his neck, and even Dame Ilse reached out her hand in token of forgiveness of the theft he had committed. At length the bridegroom saluted him in his turn, while both mother and daughter expatiated at the same time on his merits, as a suitor; for Master Peter seemed to scrutinize his person with an eye of eager inquiry. No sooner, however, was he informed of the pretensions of the gallant, and the manner in which he had acquired his right to such intimate hospitality, than he appeared to be perfectly satisfied with his future son-in-law, and was soon as familiar with him as though he had long been acquainted with him. After having first brought him some refreshment, the dame expressed her curiosity to hear his adventures, and all that had happened to him in his travels.
“I have travelled far and wide,” replied he, “and at length am become a dealer in hardware. All my wealth however consists in this cask of nails, of which I intend to make a present to the young folks here, to begin housekeeping with.” Mother Ilse now vented herself in so many reproaches, that the bridegroom, little pleased at this specimen of female eloquence, was obliged to interfere, assuring her that he was well satisfied with the offer.
Peace being restored, Gertrude requested that her father might conduct her the following morning to the church; accordingly Master Peter appeared dressed out like a burgomaster, in honour of the ceremony, which was celebrated with no ordinary splendour. Soon after this happy event, the young couple set up a separate establishment, the bridegroom having purchased a noble mansion, where he resided in the style of an opulent citizen. Peter, in the meanwhile, set himself down at his ease, which it was believed the liberality of his newly-made son enabled him to do, no one suspecting that the cask of nails was his real treasure. We must now go back and recount our hero’s adventures.
He had, totally unknown to any one, accomplished his journey to the Blocksberg with the greatest success, although certainly not altogether with the celerity with which the wizards ride thither on Walpurgis night; his manner of travelling, however, was quite as safe, and certainly quite as pleasant. He visited each house with a sign attached to it with as much punctuality as if he had been employed in taking a census of all houses of entertainment, and in ascertaining that their cellars were well stocked, and their larders well furnished.
But, at length, the mountains of the Harz appeared in the blue distant landscape, and on the near approach to the scene of action, he heroically braced liimself up for the important enterprise.
Until he began to ascend the Brocken his nose had served him as a faithful compass, but he now found himself in a latitude in which this magnet no longer acted with effect. He wandered in various directions, yet no one could inform him where the Morgenbrod Valley was situated. At length, he got, by chance, into the right track; discovered S. Andrew’s Mount, and the little stream, and last of all, the cave. He entered; the spring-root performed its office; he found the chest and the treasure, and filled his sack with as much gold as he could carry; enough to make him independent for the remainder of his days, and to enable him to bestow a handsome dowry on his dear Gertrude.
When he again beheld the light of day on his return from the cave, he felt like a mariner who, just escaped from shipwreck, has been combating in the midst of the watery element with all the horrors of death, and now again presses once more the firm earth as he exultingly scales the cliff. Notwithstanding the assurances which he had received of perfect security, it was not without certain apprehensions of mischief from the spirit of the mine, that he performed his subterraneous journey; he feared lest the stern guardian of the treasure should appear in some terrific form, and either throw him into a mortal dread, or even plunder him of the rich fruit of his daring enterprise. Everything, however, succeeded to his wish; he neither saw nor heard any evil spirit; only the iron door closed behind him with an awful sound, as soon as he set his foot out of the vaulted chamber. In his hurry, the alarmed treasure-seeker forgot his talisman, the spring-root, which he had laid out of his hand when occupied in scraping up the gold, on which account it was impossible for him to return for another freight; yet this circumstance did not cause him much affliction .jpg)
PETER BLOCK. as his desires were by no means immoderate, and as he had helped himself, on this occasion, pretty liberally.
Peter now took his departure, considering how he should best secure the prize he had obtained, and live comfortably upon it at home, without exciting idle curiosity or malignant suspicion. It was also very desirable that his shrew of a wife should know nothing of the treasure of the Harz king, else he feared that she would never desist from harassing him until he had surrendered up to her the fruit of his toils. She should, therefore, partake of the stream, but remain quite ignorant of its source. The first point was easily accomplished, the other caused him to belabour his brains greatly without determining anything. Having securely packed them up, he transported his riches to the nearest village: here he purchased a wheelbarrow, and ordered a cooper to make him a tub with a double bottom; in the centre of this he deposited his treasure, filling up the false bottom at either end with nails. With this load he returned home very leisurely; and, as he was in no great hurry to arrive there, he tarried at every hospitable tavern, desiring the obsequious master to set before him of the best.
As he approached towards Ellrich, he was joined by a young man of smart appearance, but whose countenance was marked with grief. Our merry pilgrim struck by the stranger’s appearance inquired of him, “Young sir, whither art thou bound?” To which the other replied with a sigh, “I am journeying through the wide world, my good father, or perhaps, out of the world—anywhere, in short, where my feet carry me.”
“And wherefore should it be out of the world?” kindly asked the compassionate Peter. “What has the world done to offend thee so grievously?”
“To me the world has done nothing, neither have I done aught amiss to the world, and yet, methinks, we do not agree well together.”
Our good-natured traveller of the wheelbarrow, who, when things went well with himself, always delighted in seeing others in equally good spirits, exerted himself to cheer the desponding youth; but finding, at length, that his powers of eloquence were of no avail, he suspected that his gloomy mood might be occasioned chiefly by a vacancy in the region of the stomach, and that it was that organ, not either the heart or head of the patient, that was affected. He accordingly invited him to enter an inn, promising not to call upon him for his share of the reckoning; a proposal which his melancholy companion did not refuse. They here found a mirthful set of revellers, in whose society Master Peter soon found himself quite in his element; and, by degrees, waxed so full of joyous glee, and so liberal withal, that he insisted that no one but himself should have the honour of discharging the landlord’s bill. This proposition tended by no means to throw a damp upon these choice spirits; on the contrary, they in return became most liberal of jests and repartees, so that it was doubtful whether the number of good things that went into their mouths was not exceeded by that of those which proceeded out of them. Peter’s young companion was the only one present who seemed insensible to the wit and gaiety round him; he sat in a corner of the room, with his eyes fixed on the floor, so coy too did he appear with his glass that he but rarely saluted it with his lips, and even then he did it in most maidenly guise.
Perceiving him so inaccessible to all social mirth, it now occurred to the good Peter that some heavy affliction, which was gnawing at his heart, was the real cause of the poor youth’s despondency. His curiosity therefore became equally excited with his compassion.
“My good lad,” inquired he the following morning, “what is it that disturbs thee so greatly? Acquaint me with the cause of thy uneasiness.”
“Alas, my worthy father,” returned the youth, “what can it avail me, should I disclose the cause of my sorrow? you can serve me neither by your pity nor your advice.”
“Who knows how that may be? the old proverb says: Comfort travelleth with no outrider.” Peter was now so urgent with him to disclose the cause of his disquietude, that the cheerless gallant was at length fain to comply.
“It is no trifle, no boyish misfortune,” said he, “that causes my distress, but the calamitous destiny of virtuous affection. I am attached to an amiable pious girl in the town of Rottenburg, who some time since accepted me as her suitor; but her mother, who is a very dragon for fierceness and cunning, finding that I was not so rich as she imagined, forbade me access to the house. After many unsuccessful attempts, I have at last resigned all hope of again beholding the lovely maiden. I have quitted the town, and am now wandering about the country in the hope that my grief may speedily devour my heart.”
Our hero listened very attentively to his companion’s narrative, and already began to perceive where the wind lay.
“Your history,” said he, “is a strange one enough; there is one point, however, which I would ask you—you do not speak of the father of your mistress—why did you not address yourself to him? He would hardly have rejected such an honest suitor for his daughter as thou appearest to be.”
“Ah!” replied Frederic, little weening whom he was now speaking to, “the father is nought;—he is an idle fellow, that Peter Block, who has left his wife and child, nor does any one know what has become of him. Yet I do not blame the poor wight for having run off from such a cross-grained vixen as his wife is—but, then, to desert his sweet child!—she who is so mild, and meekly tempered, and who, even now, always takes his part, and still speaks of him with the kindest affection!—were he here, I could pluck his beard for him.”
At hearing this unexpected eulogium upon himself, Master Peter redoubled his attention, and was surprised to learn how minutely his companion was acquainted with all his family secrets; without, however, being offended at the indignation expressed against him. He thought, on the contrary, that Frederic would serve his designs most admirably; that he could make him the depository of his wealth, so as thereby to avoid all inquisitive curiosity as to the sudden change in his affairs, and, at the same time, conceal his treasure from the greediness of his wife. “My good friend,” said he, “show me thy hand, and let me see what luck thy stars destine for thee.”
“What should they forbode, save evil?” returned the hopeless lover.
Nevertheless, the pretended dealer in chiromancy would not be so put off; and as his companion did not care, for such a trifle, to offend one who had treated him so generously, he reached out his hand to him. Mustering up a look of profound sagacity, Master Peter considered all the lines very attentively, shook his head occasionally in the mean while, and, after he had carried on the game for a sufficient time, said, “Friend! he who has luck has also the bride! To-morrow, as soon as the sun rises, hie thee with all speed to Rottenburg. The maiden is faithful, and well-inclined towards thee, nor will she fail to receive thee with affection. A rich inheritance will shortly fall to thee, of which thou little dreamest; and thou wilt then have wherewith to support a wife handsomely!”
“Comrade,” returned the youth, supposing that the prophet was making himself merry at his expense, “it ill becomes you to jest with the unfortunate. Seek some one on whom you can play your tricks, and leave me in peace.”
“Nay, my good friend, I am not one that would deceive you, or amuse myself at your cost; on the contrary, I engage to accomplish my predictions to the letter. To convince you of it, I will now pay you as much of the said bequest as you choose to demand. Follow me into my chamber, and I will convince you of the truth of my words by the most satisfactory evidence.”
At hearing his friend, the dealer in iron, speak of his gold, in a tone of such confidence, the youth’s cheek burned with the glow of joy and sudden astonishment; nor did he know whether he was dreaming or awake, when, following his mysterious companion, he beheld him, after having secured the door, display the secret contents of his cask,—a golden yolk within an iron shell.
Master Peter now discovered himself to the lover of Gertrude, and confided to him the mystery of the treasure, and also his intention of letting him support the character of a wealthy suitor, while he, on the contrary, would enjoy himself more snugly. The deep melancholy of the youth now altogether disappeared; he could find no words to express his gratitude for being thus suddenly rendered the most happy of all mortals. The following morning both the travellers set out for Ellrich, where the young one equipped himself in all the bravery of a noble gallant. Master Peter paid him in advance a considerable portion of the promised inheritance, and agreed with him that he should privately let him know of the success of his undertaking, in order that he might despatch a load of costly furniture, befitting the station and character he now had to support. At their parting with each other, the presumptive father-in-law made the youth a present of a piece of advice: “Take good heed to thy tongue, and disclose our secret to no one, save to the discreet Gertrude, when she becomes thy bride.”
The sequel of the story the reader already knows.
Master Peter now enjoyed the golden fruit of his trip to the Harz Mountain, yet wisely forbore to entertain the public with any description of it, and possessed so much wealth that he hardly knew its amount. Frederic, however, was supposed to be the source of this sudden prosperity; and, as honour follows quick upon riches, he soon attained the highest dignities which the town of Rottenburg could bestow. And ever since it has become a common proverb, when the people of Rottenburg wish to describe a wealthy person, to say, “He is as rich as the son-in-law of Peter Block.”