The King of the Golden River/Chapter III
HOW MR. HANS SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO
THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE PROSPERED
THEREIN
The King of the Golden River had hardly made the extraordinary
exit related in the last chapter, before Hans and Schwartz came
roaring into the house very savagely drunk. The discovery of the
total loss of their last piece of plate had the effect of sobering
them just enough to enable them to stand over Gluck, beating him
very steadily for a quarter of an hour; at the expiration of which
period they dropped into a couple of chairs and requested to know
what he had got to say for himself. Gluck told them his story, of
which, of course, they did not believe a word. They beat him again,
till their arms were tired, and staggered to bed. In the morning,
however, the steadiness with which he adhered to his story obtained
him some degree of credence; the immediate consequence of which was
that the two brothers, after wrangling a long time on the knotty
question, which of them should try his fortune first, drew their
swords and began fighting. The noise of the fray alarmed the
neighbors, who, finding they could not pacify the combatants, sent
for the constable.
Hans, on hearing this, contrived to escape, and hid himself;
but Schwartz was taken before the magistrate, fined for breaking the
peace, and, having drunk out his last penny the evening before, was
thrown into prison till he should pay.
When Hans heard this, he was much delighted, and determined to
set out immediately for the Golden River. How to get the holy water
was the question. He went to the priest, but the priest could not
give any holy water to so abandoned a character. So Hans went to
vespers in the evening for the first time in his life and, under
pretense of crossing himself, stole a cupful and returned home in
triumph.
Next morning he got up before the sun rose, put the holy water
into a strong flask, and two bottles of wine and some meat in a
basket, slung them over his back, took his alpine staff in his hand,
and set off for the mountains.
On his way out of the town he had to pass the prison, and as he
looked in at the windows, whom should he see but Schwartz himself
peeping out of the bars and looking very disconsolate.
"Good morning, brother," said Hans; "have you any message
for the King of the Golden River?"
Schwartz gnashed his teeth with rage and shook the bars with
all his strength, but Hans only laughed at him and, advising him to
make himself comfortable till he came back again, shouldered his
basket, shook the bottle of holy water in Schwartz's face till it
frothed again, and marched off in the highest spirits in the world.
It was indeed a morning that might have made anyone happy, even
with no Golden River to seek for. Level lines of dewy mist lay
stretched along the valley, out of which rose the massy mountains,
their lower cliffs in pale gray shadow, hardly distinguishable from
the floating vapor but gradually ascending till they caught the
sunlight, which ran in sharp touches of ruddy color along the
angular crags, and pierced, in long, level rays, through their
fringes of spearlike pine. Far above shot up red, splintered masses
of castellated rock, jagged and shivered into myriads of fantastic
forms, with here and there a streak of sunlit snow traced down their
chasms like a line of forked lightning; and far beyond and far above
all these, fainter than the morning cloud but purer and changeless,
slept, in the blue sky, the utmost peaks of the eternal snow.
The Golden River, which sprang from one of the lower and
snowless elevations, was now nearly in shadow--all but the uppermost
jets of spray, which rose like slow smoke above the undulating line
of the cataract and floated away in feeble wreaths upon the morning
wind.
On this object, and on this alone, Hans's eyes and thoughts
were fixed. Forgetting the distance he had to traverse, he set off
at an imprudent rate of walking, which greatly exhausted him before
he had scaled the first range of the green and low hills. He was,
moreover, surprised, on surmounting them, to find that a large
glacier, of whose existence, notwithstanding his previous knowledge
of the mountains, he had been absolutely ignorant, lay between him
and the source of the Golden River. He entered on it with the
boldness of a practiced mountaineer, yet he thought he had never
traversed so strange or so dangerous a glacier in his life. The ice
was excessively slippery, and out of all its chasms came wild sounds
of gushing water--not monotonous or low, but changeful and loud,
rising occasionally into drifting passages of wild melody, then
breaking off into short, melancholy tones or sudden shrieks
resembling those of human voices in distress or pain. The ice was
broken into thousands of confused shapes, but none, Hans thought,
like the ordinary forms of splintered ice. There seemed a curious
EXPRESSION about all their outlines--a perpetual resemblance to
living features, distorted and scornful. Myriads of deceitful
shadows and lurid lights played and floated about and through the
pale blue pinnacles, dazzling and confusing the sight of the
traveler, while his ears grew dull and his head giddy with the
constant gush and roar of the concealed waters. These painful
circumstances increased upon him as he advanced; the ice crashed and
yawned into fresh chasms at his feet, tottering spires nodded around
him and fell thundering across his path; and though he had
repeatedly faced these dangers on the most terrific glaciers and in
the wildest weather, it was with a new and oppressive feeling of
panic terror that he leaped the last chasm and flung himself,
exhausted and shuddering, on the firm turf of the mountain.
He had been compelled to abandon his basket of food, which
became a perilous incumbrance on the glacier, and had now no means
of refreshing himself but by breaking off and eating some of the
pieces of ice. This, however, relieved his thirst; an hour's repose
recruited his hardy frame, and with the indomitable spirit of
avarice he resumed his laborious journey.
His way now lay straight up a ridge of bare red rocks, without
a blade of grass to ease the foot or a projecting angle to afford an
inch of shade from the south sun. It was past noon and the rays
beat intensely upon the steep path, while the whole atmosphere was
motionless and penetrated with heat. Intense thirst was soon added
to the bodily fatigue with which Hans was now afflicted; glance
after glance he cast on the flask of water which hung at his belt.
"Three drops are enough," at last thought he; "I may, at least,
cool my lips with it."
He opened the flask and was raising it to his lips, when his
eye fell on an object lying on the rock beside him; he thought it
moved. It was a small dog, apparently in the last agony of death
from thirst. Its tongue was out, its jaws dry, its limbs extended
lifelessly, and a swarm of black ants were crawling about its lips
and throat. Its eye moved to the bottle which Hans held in his
hand. He raised it, drank, spurned the animal with his foot, and
passed on. And he did not know how it was, but he thought that a
strange shadow had suddenly come across the blue sky.
The path became steeper and more rugged every moment, and the
high hill air, instead of refreshing him, seemed to throw his blood
into a fever. The noise of the hill cataracts sounded like mockery
in his ears; they were all distant, and his thirst increased every
moment. Another hour passed, and he again looked down to the flask
at his side; it was half empty, but there was much more than three
drops in it. He stopped to open it, and again, as he did so,
something moved in the path above him. It was a fair child,
stretched nearly lifeless on the rock, its breast heaving with
thirst, its eyes closed, and its lips parched and burning. Hans
eyed it deliberately, drank, and passed on. And a dark gray cloud
came over the sun, and long, snakelike shadows crept up along the
mountain sides. Hans struggled on. The sun was sinking, but its
descent seemed to bring no coolness; the leaden height of the dead
air pressed upon his brow and heart, but the goal was near. He saw
the cataract of the Golden River springing from the hillside
scarcely five hundred feet above him. He paused for a moment to
breathe, and sprang on to complete his task.
At this instant a faint cry fell on his ear. He turned, and
saw a gray-haired old man extended on the rocks. His eyes were
sunk, his features deadly pale and gathered into an expression of
despair. "Water!" he stretched his arms to Hans, and cried
feebly, "Water! I am dying."
"I have none," replied Hans; "thou hast had thy share of
life." He strode over the prostrate body and darted on. And a
flash of blue lightning rose out of the East, shaped like a sword;
it shook thrice over the whole heaven and left it dark with one
heavy, impenetrable shade. The sun was setting; it plunged towards
the horizon like a redhot ball.
The roar of the Golden River rose on Hans's ear. He stood
at the brink of the chasm through which it ran. Its waves were
filled with the red glory of the sunset; they shook their crests
like tongues of fire, and flashes of bloody light gleamed along
their foam. Their sound came mightier and mightier on his senses;
his brain grew giddy with the prolonged thunder. Shuddering he
drew the flask from his girdle and hurled it into the center of
the torrent. As he did so, an icy chill shot through his limbs;
he staggered, shrieked, and fell. The waters closed over his cry,
and the moaning of the river rose wildly into the night as it
gushed over
THE BLACK STONE