PREFACE

"The King of the Golden River" is a delightful fairy tale told
with all Ruskin's charm of style, his appreciation of mountain scenery,
and with his usual insistence upon drawing a moral.  None the less, it
is quite unlike his other writings.  All his life long his pen was busy
interpreting nature and pictures and architecture, or persuading to
better views those whom he believed to be in error, or arousing, with
the white heat of a prophet's zeal, those whom he knew to be unawakened.
There is indeed a good deal of the prophet about John Ruskin.  Though
essentially an interpreter with a singularly fine appreciation of beauty,
no man of the nineteenth century felt more keenly that he had a mission,
and none was more loyal to what he believed that mission to be.

While still in college, what seemed a chance incident gave
occasion and direction to this mission. A certain English reviewer
had ridiculed the work of the artist Turner.  Now Ruskin held
Turner to be the greatest landscape painter the world had seen,
and he immediately wrote a notable article in his defense.  Slowly
this article grew into a pamphlet, and the pamphlet into a book,
the first volume of "Modern Painters."  The young man awoke to
find himself famous.  In the next few years four more volumes were
added to "Modern Painters," and the other notable series upon
art, "The Stones of Venice" and "The Seven Lamps of
Architecture," were sent forth.

Then, in 1860, when Ruskin was about forty years old, there
came a great change.  His heaven-born genius for making the
appreciation of beauty a common possession was deflected from its
true field.  He had been asking himself what are the conditions
that produce great art, and the answer he found declared that art
cannot be separated from life, nor life from industry and
industrial conditions.  A civilization founded upon unrestricted
competition therefore seemed to him necessarily feeble in
appreciation of the beautiful, and unequal to its creation.
In this way loyalty to his mission bred apparent disloyalty.
Delightful discourses upon art gave way to fervid pleas for
humanity.  For the rest of his life he became a very earnest, if
not always very wise, social reformer and a passionate pleader for
what he believed to be true economic ideals.

There is nothing of all this in "The King of the Golden
River."  Unlike his other works, it was written merely to entertain.
Scarcely that,  since it was not written for publication at all, but
to meet a challenge set him by a young girl.

The circumstance is interesting.  After taking his degree at
Oxford, Ruskin was threatened with consumption and hurried away
from the chill and damp of England to the south of Europe.  After
two years of fruitful travel and study he came back improved in
health but not strong, and often depressed in spirit.  It was at
this time that the Guys, Scotch friends of his father and mother,
came for a visit to his home near London, and with them their
little daughter Euphemia.  The coming of this beautiful,
vivacious, light-hearted child opened a new chapter in Ruskin's
life.  Though but twelve years old, she sought to enliven the
melancholy student, absorbed in art and geology, and bade him
leave these and write for her a fairy tale.  He accepted, and
after but two sittings, presented her with this charming story.
The incident proved to have awakened in him a greater interest
than at first appeared, for a few years later "Effie" Grey became
John Ruskin's wife.  Meantime she had given the manuscript to a
friend.  Nine years after it was written, this friend, with John
Ruskin's permission, gave the story to the world.

It was published in London in 1851, with illustrations by the
celebrated Richard Doyle, and at once became a favorite.  Three
editions were printed the first year, and soon it had found its
way into German, Italian, and Welsh.  Since then countless
children have had cause to be grateful for the young girl's
challenge that won the story of Gluck's golden mug and the highly
satisfactory handling of the Black Brothers by Southwest Wind,
Esquire.

For this edition new drawings have been prepared by Mr. Hiram
P. Barnes.  They very successfully preserve the spirit of Doyle's
illustrations, which unfortunately are not technically suitable
for reproduction here.

In the original manuscript there was an epilogue bearing the
heading "Charitie"--a morning hymn of Treasure Valley, whither
Gluck had returned to dwell, and where: the inheritance lost by
cruelty was regained by love:

The beams of morning are renewed
The valley laughs their light to see
And earth is bright with gratitude
And heaven with charitie.


R.H. COE


CONTENTS

CHAPTER I
HOW THE AGRICULTURAL SYSTEM OF THE BLACK
BROTHERS WAS INTERFERED WITH BY SOUTHWEST
WIND, ESQUIRE

CHAPTER II
OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE THREE BROTHERS AFTER
THE VISIT OF SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE; AND HOW
LITTLE GLUCK HAD AN INTERVIEW WITH THE KING OF
GOLDEN RIVER

CHAPTER III
HOW MR. HANS SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE
GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE PROSPERED THEREIN

CHAPTER IV
HOW MR. SCHWARTZ SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE
GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE PROSPERED THEREIN

CHAPTER V
HOW LITTLE GLUCK SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE
GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE PROSPERED THEREIN,
WITH OTHER MATTERS OF INTEREST





THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER




CHAPTER I

HOW THE AGRICULTURAL SYSTEM OF THE BLACK BROTHERS WAS
INTERFERED WITH BY SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE

In a secluded and mountainous part of Stiria there was in old
time a valley of the most surprising and luxuriant fertility.  It
was surrounded on all sides by steep and rocky mountains rising into
peaks which were always covered with snow and from which a number of
torrents descended in constant cataracts.  One of these fell
westward over the face of a crag so high that when the sun had set
to everything else, and all below was darkness, his beams still
shone full upon this waterfall, so that it looked like a shower of
gold.  It was therefore called by the people of the neighborhood the
Golden River.  It was strange that none of these streams fell into
the valley itself.  They all descended on the other side of the
mountains and wound away through broad plains and by populous
cities.  But the clouds were drawn so constantly to the snowy hills,
and rested so softly in the circular hollow, that in time of drought
and heat, when all the country round was burned up, there was still
rain in the little valley; and its crops were so heavy, and its hay
so high, and its apples so red, and its grapes so blue, and its wine
so rich, and its honey so sweet, that it was a marvel to everyone
who beheld it and was commonly called the Treasure Valley.

The whole of this little valley belonged to three brothers,
called Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck.  Schwartz and Hans, the two elder
brothers, were very ugly men, with overhanging eyebrows and small,
dull eyes which were always half shut, so that you couldn't see into
THEM and always fancied they saw very far into YOU.  They lived by
farming the Treasure Valley, and very good farmers they were.  They
killed everything that did not pay for its eating.  They shot the
blackbirds because they pecked the fruit, and killed the hedgehogs
lest they should suck the cows; they poisoned the crickets for
eating the crumbs in the kitchen, and smothered the cicadas which
used to sing all summer in the lime trees.  They worked their
servants without any wages till they would not work any more, and
then quarreled with them and turned them out of doors without paying
them.  It wouuld have been very odd if with such a farm and such a
system of farming they hadn't got very rich; and very rich they DID
get.  They generally contrived to keep their corn by them till it
was very dear, and then sell it for twice its value; they had heaps
of gold lying about on their floors, yet it was never known that
they had given so much as a penny or a crust in charity; they never
went to Mass, grumbled perpetually at paying tithes, and were, in a
word, of so cruel and grinding a temper as to receive from all those
with whom they had any dealings the nickname of the "Black
Brothers."

The youngest brother, Gluck, was as completely opposed, in
both appearance and character, to his seniors as could possibly
be imagined or desired.  He was not above twelve years old, fair,
blue-eyed, and kind in temper to every living thing.  He did not,
of course, agree particularly well with his brothers, or, rather,
they did not agree with HIM.  He was usually appointed to the
honorable office of turnspit, when there was anything to roast,
which was not often, for, to do the brothers justice, they were
hardly less sparing upon themselves than upon other people.  At
other times he used to clean the shoes, floors, and sometimes the
plates, occasionally getting what was left on them, by way of
encouragement, and a wholesome quantity of dry blows by way of
education.

Things went on in this manner for a long time.  At last came
a very wet summer, and everything went wrong in the country round.
The hay had hardly been got in when the haystacks were floated
bodily down to the sea by an inundation; the vines were cut to
pieces with the hail; the corn was all killed by a black blight.
Only in the Treasure Valley, as usual, all was safe.  As it had
rain when there was rain nowhere else, so it had sun when there
was sun nowhere else.  Everybody came to buy corn at the farm and
went away pouring maledictions on the Black Brothers.  They asked
what they liked and got it, except from the poor people, who could
only beg, and several of whom were starved at their very door
without the slightest regard or notice.

It was drawing towards winter, and very cold weather, when
one day the two elder brothers had gone out, with their usual
warning to little Gluck, who was left to mind the roast, that he
was to let nobody in and give nothing out.  Gluck sat down quite
close to the fire, for it was raining very hard and the kitchen
walls were by no means dry or comfortable-looking.  He turned and
turned, and the roast got nice and brown.  "What a pity," thought
Gluck, "my brothers never ask anybody to dinner.  I'm sure, when
they've got such a nice piece of mutton as this, and nobody else
has got so much as a piece of dry bread, it would do their hearts
good to have somebody to eat it with them."

Just as he spoke there came a double knock at the house door,
yet heavy and dull, as though the knocker had been tied up--more
like a puff than a knock.

"It must be the wind," said Gluck; "nobody else would
venture to knock double knocks at our door."

No, it wasn't the wind; there it came again very hard, and,
what was particularly astounding, the knocker seemed to be in a
hurry and not to be in the least afraid of the consequences.  Gluck
went to the window, opened it, and put his head out to see who it was.

It was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman he had
ever seen in his life.  He had a very large nose, slightly brass-
colored; his cheeks were very round and very red, and might have
warranted a supposition that he had been blowing a refractory fire
for the last eight-and-forty hours; his eyes twinkled merrily
through long, silky eyelashes; his mustaches curled twice round like
a corkscrew on each side of his mouth; and his hair, of a curious
mixed pepper-and-salt color, descended far over his shoulders.  He
was about four feet six in height and wore a conical pointed cap of
nearly the same altitude, decorated with a black feather some three
feet long.  His doublet was prolonged behind into something
resembling a violent exaggeration of what is now termed a
"swallowtail," but was much obscured by the swelling folds of an
enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which must have been very much
too long in calm weather, as the wind, whistling round the old
house, carried it clear out from the wearer's shoulders to about
four times his own length.

Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular appearance of
his visitor that he remained fixed without uttering a word, until
the old gentleman, having performed another and a more energetic
concerto on the knocker, turned round to look after his flyaway
cloak.  In so doing he caught sight of Gluck's little yellow head
jammed in the window, with its mouth and eyes very wide open indeed.

"Hollo!" said the little gentleman; "that's not the way to
answer the door.  I'm wet; let me in."

To do the little gentleman justice, he WAS wet.  His feather
hung down between his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping
like an umbrella, and from the ends of his mustaches the water was
running into his waistcoat pockets and out again like a mill
stream.

"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, "I'm very sorry, but, I
really can't."

"Can't what?" said the old gentleman.

"I can't let you in, sir--I can't, indeed; my brothers would
beat me to death, sir, if I thought of such a thing.  What do you
want, sir?"

"Want?" said the old gentleman petulantly.  "I want fire and
shelter, and there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and
dancing on the walls with nobody to feel it.  Let me in, I say; I
only want to warm myself."

Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window
that he began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he
turned and saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring and throwing
long, bright tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops
at the savory smell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within
him that it should be burning away for nothing.  "He does look very
wet," said little Gluck; "I'll just let him in for a quarter of an
hour."  Round he went to the door and opened it; and as the little
gentleman walked in, there came a gust of wind through the house
that made the old chimneys totter.

"That's a good boy," said the little gentleman.  "Never mind
your brothers.  I'll talk to them."

"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said Gluck.  "I can't
let you stay till they come; they'd be the death of me."

"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear
that.  How long may I stay?"

"Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it's
very brown."

Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen and sat
himself down on the hob, with the top of his cap accommodated
up the chimney, for it was a great deal too high for the roof.

"You'll soon dry there, sir," said Gluck, and sat down again
to turn the mutton.  But the old gentleman did NOT dry there, but
went on drip, drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed
and sputtered and began to look very black and uncomfortable.  Never
was such a cloak; every fold in it ran like a gutter.

"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length, after watching the
water spreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor
for a quarter of an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?"

"No, thank you," said the old gentleman.

"Your cap, sir?"

"I am all right, thank you," said the old gentleman rather
gruffly.

"But--sir--I'm very sorry," said Gluck hesitatingly, "but--
really, sir--you're--putting the fire out."

"It'll take longer to do the mutton, then," replied his
visitor dryly.

Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it
was such a strange mixture of coolness and humility.  He turned
away at the string meditatively for another five minutes.

"That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman at
length.  "Can't you give me a little bit?"

"Impossible, sir," said Gluck.

"I'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman.  "I've had
nothing to eat yesterday nor to-day.  They surely couldn't miss a
bit from the knuckle!"

He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted
Gluck's heart.  "They promised me one slice to-day, sir," said
he; "I can give you that, but not a bit more."

"That's a good boy," said the old gentleman again.

Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife.  "I don't
care if I do get beaten for it," thought he.  Just as he had cut
a large slice out of the mutton there came a tremendous rap at the
door.  The old gentleman jumped off the hob as if it had suddenly
become inconveniently warm.  Gluck fitted the slice into the
mutton again, with desperate efforts at exactitude, and ran to
open the door.

"What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said
Schwartz, as he walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face.

"Aye! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?" said Hans,
administering an educational box on the ear as he followed his
brother into the kitchen.

"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz when he opened the door.

"Amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap
off and was standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with
the utmost possible velocity.

"Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin and
turning to Gluck with a fierce frown.

"I don't know, indeed, brother," said Gluck in great
terror.

"How did he get in?" roared Schwartz.

"My dear brother," said Gluck deprecatingly, "he was so
VERY wet!"

The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head, but, at
the instant, the old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on
which it crashed with a shock that shook the water out of it
all over the room.  What was very odd, the rolling-pin no sooner
touched the cap than it flew out of Schwartz's hand, spinning like
a straw in a high wind, and fell into the corner at the further
end of the room.

"Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him.
"What's your business?" snarled Hans.

"I'm a poor old man, sir," the little gentleman began very
modestly, "and I saw your fire through the window and begged
shelter for a quarter of an hour."

"Have the goodness to walk out again, then," said Schwartz.
"We've quite enough water in our kitchen without making it a
drying house."

"It  is  a cold day toturn an oldman out in, sir; look at
my gray hairs."  They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you
before.

"Aye!" said Hans; "there are enough of them to keep you
warm.  Walk!"

"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of
bread before I go?"

"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've
nothing to do with our bread but to give it to such red-nosed
fellows as you?"

"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans sneeringly.
"Out with you!"

"A little bit," said the old gentleman.

"Be off!" said Schwartz.

"Pray, gentlemen."

"Off, and be hanged!" cried Hans, seizing him by the
collar.  But he had no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar
than away he went after the rolling-pin, spinning round and round
till he fell into the corner on the top of it.  Then Schwartz was
very angry and ran at the old gentleman to turn him out; but he
also had hardly touched him when away he went after Hans and the
rolling-pin, and hit his head against the wall as he tumbled into
the corner.  And so there they lay, all three.

Then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in
the opposite direction, continued to spin until his long cloak was
all wound neatly about him, clapped his cap on his head, very much
on one side (for it could not stand upright without going through
the ceiling), gave an additional twist to his corkscrew mustaches,
and replied with perfect coolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a very
good morning.  At twelve o'clock tonight I'll call again; after
such a refusal of hospitality as I have just experienced, you will
not be surprised if that visit is the last I ever pay you."

"If ever I catch you here again," muttered Schwartz,
coming, half frightened, out of the corner--but before he could
finish his sentence the old gentleman had shut the house door
behind him with a great bang, and there drove past the window at
the same instant a wreath of ragged cloud that whirled and rolled
away down the valley in all manner of shapes, turning over and
over in the air and melting away at last in a gush of rain.

"A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!" said Schwartz.
"Dish the mutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again--
bless me, why, the mutton's been cut!"

"You promised me one slice, brother, you know," said Gluck.

"Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to
catch all the gravy.  It'll be long before I promise you such a
thing again.  Leave the room, sir; and have the kindness to wait
in the coal cellar till I call you."

Gluck left the room melancholy enough.  The brothers ate as
much mutton as they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and
proceeded to get very drunk after dinner.

Such a night as it was!  Howling wind and rushing rain, without
intermission.  The brothers had just sense enough left to put up all
the shutters and double-bar the door before they went to bed.  They
usually slept in the same room.  As the clock struck twelve they
were both awakened by a tremendous crash.  Their door burst open
with a violence that shook the house from top to bottom.

"What's that?" cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed.

"Only I," said the little gentleman.

The two brothers sat up on their bolster and stared into the
darkness.  The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam,
which found its way through a hole in the shutter, they could see in
the midst of it an enormous foam globe, spinning round and bobbing
up and down like a cork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion,
reclined the little old gentleman, cap and all.  There was plenty of
room for it now, for the roof was off.

"Sorry to incommode you," said their visitor ironically.
"I'm afraid your beds are dampish.  Perhaps you had better go
to your brother's room; I've left the ceiling on there."

They required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's
room, wet through and in an agony of terror.

"You'll find my card on the kitchen table," the old gentleman
called after them.  "Remember, the LAST visit."

"Pray Heaven it may!" said Schwartz, shuddering.  And the
foam globe disappeared.

Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's
little window in the morning.  The Treasure Valley was one mass of
ruin and desolation.  The inundation had swept away trees, crops,
and cattle, and left in their stead a waste of red sand and gray
mud.  The two brothers crept shivering and horror-struck into the
kitchen.  The water had gutted the whole first floor; corn, money,
almost every movable thing, had been swept away, and there was left
only a small white card on the kitchen table.  On it, in large,
breezy, long-legged letters, were engraved the words:

SOUTH WEST WIND, ESQUIRE



CHAPTER II

OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE THREE BROTHERS
AFTER THE VISIT OF SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE;
AND HOW LITTLE GLUCK HAD AN INTERVIEW
WITH THE KING OF THE GOLDEN RIVER


Southwest Wind, Esquire, was as good as his word.  After the
momentous visit above related, he entered the Treasure Valley no
more; and, what was worse, he had so much influence with his
relations, the West Winds in general, and used it so effectually,
that they all adopted a similar line of conduct.  So no rain fell
in the valley from one year's end to another.  Though everything
remained green and flourishing in the plains below, the inheritance
of the three brothers was a desert.  What had once been the richest
soil in the kingdom became a shifting heap of red sand, and the
brothers, unable longer to contend with the adverse skies, abandoned
their valueless patrimony in despair, to seek some means of gaining
a livelihood among the cities and people of the plains.  All their
money was gone, and they had nothing left but some curious old-
fashioned pieces of gold plate, the last remnants of their ill-
gotten wealth.

"Suppose we turn goldsmiths," said Schwartz to Hans as they
entered the large city.  "It is a good knave's trade; we can put a
great deal of copper into the gold without anyone's finding it out."

The thought was agreed to be a very good one; they hired a
furnace and turned goldsmiths.  But two slight circumstances
affected their trade: the first, that people did not approve of the
coppered gold; the second, that the two elder brothers, whenever
they had sold anything, used to leave little Gluck to mind the
furnace, and go and drink out the money in the alehouse next door.
So they melted all their gold without making money enough to buy
more, and were at last reduced to one large drinking mug, which an
uncle of his had given to little Gluck, and which he was very fond
of and would not have parted with for the world, though he never
drank anything out of it but milk and water.  The mug was a very odd
mug to look at.  The handle was formed of two wreaths of flowing
golden hair, so finely spun that it looked more like silk than
metal, and these wreaths descended into and mixed with a beard and
whiskers of the same exquisite workmanship, which surrounded and
decorated a very fierce little face, of the reddest gold imaginable,
right in the front of the mug, with a pair of eyes in it which
seemed to command its whole circumference.  It was impossible to
drink out of the mug without being subjected to an intense gaze out
of the side of these eyes, and Schwartz positively averred that
once, after emptying it, full of Rhenish, seventeen times, he had
seen them wink!  When it came to the mug's turn to be made into
spoons, it half broke poor little Gluck's heart; but the brothers
only laughed at him, tossed the mug into the melting pot, and
staggered out to the alehouse, leaving him, as usual, to pour the
gold into bars when it was all ready.

When they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his old
friend in the melting pot.  The flowing hair was all gone; nothing
remained but the red nose and the sparkling eyes, which looked more
malicious than ever.  "And no wonder," thought Gluck, "after
being treated in that way."  He sauntered disconsolately to the
window and sat himself down to catch the fresh evening air and
escape the hot breath of the furnace.  Now this window commanded a
direct view of the range of mountains which, as I told you before,
overhung the Treasure Valley, and more especially of the peak from
which fell the Golden River.  It was just at the close of the day,
and when Gluck sat down at the window, he saw the rocks of the
mountain tops, all crimson and purple with the sunset; and there
were bright tongues of fiery cloud burning and quivering about them;
and the river, brighter than all, fell, in a waving column of pure
gold, from precipice to precipice, with the double arch of a broad
purple rainbow stretched across it, flushing and fading alternately
in the wreaths of spray.

"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a
little while, "if that river were really all gold, what a nice
thing it would be."

"No, it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear, metallic voice close
at his ear.

"Bless me, what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up.  There
was nobody there.  He looked round the room and under the table and
a great many times behind him, but there was certainly nobody there,
and he sat down again at the window.  This time he didn't speak, but
he couldn't help thinking again that it would be very convenient if
the river were really all gold.

"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than
before.

"Bless me!" said Gluck again, "what is that?"  He looked
again into all the corners and cupboards, and then began turning
round and round as fast as he could, in the middle of the room,
thinking there was somebody behind him, when the same voice struck
again on his ear.  It was singing now, very merrily, "Lala-lira-
la"--no words, only a soft, running, effervescent melody, something
like that of a kettle on the boil.  Gluck looked out of the window;
no, it was certainly in the house.  Upstairs and downstairs; no, it
was certainly in that very room, coming in quicker time and clearer
notes every moment: "Lala-lira-la."  All at once it struck Gluck
that it sounded louder near the furnace.  He ran to the opening and
looked in.  Yes, he saw right; it seemed to be coming not only out
of the furnace but out of the pot.  He uncovered it, and ran back in
a great fright, for the pot was certainly singing!  He stood in the
farthest corner of the room, with his hands up and his mouth open,
for a minute or two, when the singing stopped and the voice became
clear and pronunciative.

"Hollo!" said the voice.

Gluck made no answer.

"Hollo! Gluck, my boy," said the pot again.

Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the
crucible, drew it out of the furnace, and looked in.  The gold was
all melted and its surface as smooth and polished as a river, but
instead of reflecting little Gluck's head, as he looked in he saw,
meeting his glance from beneath the gold, the red nose and sharp
eyes of his old friend of the mug, a thousand times redder and
sharper than ever he had seen them in his life.

"Come, Gluck, my boy," said the voice out of the pot again,
"I'm all right; pour me out."

But Gluck was too much astonished to do anything of the kind.

"Pour me out, I say," said the voice rather gruffly.

Still Gluck couldn't move.

"WILL you pour me out?" said the voice passionately.  "I'm
too hot."

By a violent effort Gluck recovered the use of his limbs,
took hold of the crucible, and sloped it, so as to pour out the
gold.  But instead of a liquid stream there came out, first a pair
of pretty little yellow legs, then some coat tails, then a pair of
arms stuck akimbo, and finally the well-known head of his friend the
mug--all which articles, uniting as they rolled out, stood up
energetically on the floor in the shape of a little golden dwarf
about a foot and a half high.

"That's right!" said the dwarf, stretching out first his
legs and then his arms, and then shaking his head up and down and
as far round as it would go, for five minutes without stopping,
apparently with the view of ascertaining if he were quite correctly
put together, while Gluck stood contemplating him in speechless
amazement.  He was dressed in a slashed doublet of spun gold, so
fine in its texture that the prismatic colors gleamed over it as if
on a surface of mother-of-pearl; and over this brilliant doublet his
hair and beard fell full halfway to the ground in waving curls, so
exquisitely delicate that Gluck could hardly tell where they ended;
they seemed to melt into air.  The features of the face, however,
were by no means finished with the same delicacy; they were rather
coarse, slightly inclining to coppery in complexion, and indicative,
in expression, of a very pertinacious and intractable disposition in
their small proprietor.  When the dwarf had finished his self-
examination, he turned his small, sharp eyes full on Gluck and
stared at him deliberately for a minute or two.  "No, it wouldn't,
Gluck, my boy," said the little man.

This was certainly rather an abrupt and unconnected mode of
commencing conversation.  It might indeed be supposed to refer to
the course of Gluck's thoughts, which had first produced the dwarf's
observations out of the pot; but whatever it referred to, Gluck had
no inclination to dispute the dictum.

"Wouldn't it, sir?" said Gluck very mildly and submissively
indeed.

"No," said the dwarf, conclusively, "no, it wouldn't."  And
with that the dwarf pulled his cap hard over his brows and took two
turns, of three feet long, up and down the room, lifting his legs up
very high and setting them down very hard.  This pause gave time for
Gluck to collect his thoughts a little, and, seeing no great reason
to view his diminutive visitor with dread, and feeling his curiosity
overcome his amazement, he ventured on a question of peculiar
delicacy.

"Pray, sir," said Gluck, rather hesitatingly, "were you
my mug?"

On which the little man turned sharp round, walked straight
up to Gluck, and drew himself up to his full height.  "I," said
the little man, "am the King of the Golden River."  Whereupon he
turned about again and took two more turns, some six feet long, in
order to allow time for the consternation which this announcement
produced in his auditor to evaporate.  After which he again walked
up to Gluck and stood still, as if expecting some comment on his
communication.

Gluck determined to say something at all events.  "I hope your
Majesty is very well," said Gluck.

"Listen!" said the little man, deigning no reply to this
polite inquiry.  "I am the king of what you mortals call the Golden
River.  The shape you saw me in was owing to the malice of a
stronger king, from whose enchantments you have this instant freed
me.  What I have seen of you and your conduct to your wicked
brothers renders me willing to serve you; therefore, attend to what
I tell you.  Whoever shall climb to the top of that mountain from
which you see the Golden River issue, and shall cast into the stream
at its source three drops of holy water, for him and for him only
the river shall turn to gold.  But no one failing in his first can
succeed in a second attempt, and if anyone shall cast unholy water
into the river, it will overwhelm him and he will become a black
stone."  So saying, the King of the Golden River turned away and
deliberately walked into the center of the hottest flame of the
furnace.  His figure became red, white, transparent, dazzling,--a
blaze of intense light,--rose, trembled, and disappeared.  The King
of the Golden River had evaporated.

"Oh!" cried poor Gluck, running to look up the chimney after
him, "O dear, dear, dear me! My mug! my mug! my mug!"



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




CHAPTER IV

HOW MR. SCHWARTZ SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION
TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE PROSPERED
THEREIN


Poor little Gluck waited very anxiously, alone in the house,
for Hans's return.  Finding he did not come back, he was terribly
frightened and went and told Schwartz in the prison all that had
happened.  Then Schwartz was very much pleased and said that Hans
must certainly have been turned into a black stone and he should
have all the gold to himself.  But Gluck was very sorry and cried
all night.  When he got up in the morning there was no bread in the
house, nor any money; so Gluck went and hired himself to another
goldsmith, and he worked so hard and so neatly and so long every day
that he soon got money enough together to pay his brother's fine,
and he went and gave it all to Schwartz, and Schwartz got out of
prison.  Then Schwartz was quite pleased and said he should have
some of the gold of the river.  But Gluck only begged he would go
and see what had become of Hans.

Now when Schwartz had heard that Hans had stolen the holy
water, he thought to himself that such a proceeding might not be
considered altogether correct by the King of the Golden River, and
determined to manage matters better.  So he took some more of
Gluck's money and went to a bad priest, who gave him some holy water
very readily for it.  Then Schwartz was sure it was all quite right.
So Schwartz got up early in the morning before the sun rose, and
took some bread and wine in a basket, and put his holy water in a
flask, and set off for the mountains.  Like his brother he was much
surprised at the sight of the glacier and had great difficulty in
crossing it, even after leaving his basket behind him.  The day was
cloudless but not bright; there was a heavy purple haze hanging over
the sky, and the hills looked lowering and gloomy.  And as Schwartz
climbed the steep rock path the thirst came upon him, as it had upon
his brother, until he lifted his flask to his lips to drink.  Then
he saw the fair child lying near him on the rocks, and it cried to
him and moaned for water.  "Water, indeed," said Schwartz; "I
haven't half enough for myself," and passed on.  And as he went he
thought the sunbeams grew more dim, and he saw a low bank of black
cloud rising out of the west; and when he had climbed for another
hour, the thirst overcame him again and he would have drunk.  Then
he saw the old man lying before him on the path, and heard him cry
out for water.  "Water, indeed," said Schwartz; "I haven't half
enough for myself," and on he went.  Then again the light seemed to
fade from before his eyes, and he looked up, and, behold, a mist, of
the color of blood, had come over the sun; and the bank of black
cloud had risen very high, and its edges were tossing and tumbling
like the waves of the angry sea and they cast long shadows which
flickered over Schwartz's path.

Then Schwartz climbed for another hour, and again his thirst
returned; and as he lifted his flask to his lips he thought he saw
his brother Hans lying exhausted on the path before him, and as he
gazed the figure stretched its arms to him and cried for water.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Schwartz, "are you there? Remember the prison
bars, my boy.  Water, indeed! do you suppose I carried it all the
way up here for you?"  And he strode over the figure; yet, as he
passed, he thought he saw a strange expression of mockery about its
lips.  And when he had gone a few yards farther, he looked back; but
the figure was not there.

And a sudden horror came over Schwartz, he knew not why; but
the thirst for gold prevailed over his fear, and he rushed on.  And
the bank of black cloud rose to the zenith, and out of it came
bursts of spiry lightning, and waves of darkness seemed to heave and
float, between their flashes, over the whole heavens.  And the sky
where the sun was setting was all level and like a lake of blood;
and a strong wind came out of that sky, tearing its crimson clouds
into fragments and scattering them far into the darkness.  And when
Sclnvartz stood by the brink of the Golden River, its waves were
black like thunder clouds, but their foam was like fire; and the
roar of the waters below and the thunder above met as he cast the
flask into the stream.  And as he did so the lightning glared in his
eyes, and the earth gave way beneath him, and the waters closed over
his cry.  And the moaning of the river rose wildly into the night as
it gushed over the

TWO BLACK STONES



CHAPTER V

HOW LITTLE GLUCK SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION
TO THE GOLDEN RIVER, AND HOW HE PROSPERED
THEREIN, WITH OTHER MATTERS OF INTEREST

When Gluck found that Schwartz did not come back, he was very
sorry and did not know what to do.  He had no money and was obliged
to go and hire himself again to the goldsmith, who worked him very
hard and gave him very little money.  So, after a month or two,
Gluck grew tired and made up his mind to go and try his fortune with
the Golden River.  "The little king looked very kind," thought he.
"I don't think he will turn me into a black stone."  So he went to
the priest, and the priest gave him some holy water as soon as he
asked for it.  Then Gluck took some bread in his basket, and the
bottle of water, and set off very early for the mountains.

If the glacier had occasioned a great deal of fatigue in his
brothers, it was twenty times worse for him, who was neither so
strong nor so practiced on the mountains.  He had several very bad
falls, lost his basket and bread, and was very much frightened at
the strange noises under the ice.  He lay a long time to rest on the
grass, after he had got over, and began to climb the hill just in
the hottest part of the clay.  When he had climbed for an hour, he
got dreadfully thirsty and was going to drink like his brothers,
when he saw an old man coming down the path above him, looking very
feeble and leaning on a staff.  "Why son," said the old man, "I
am faint with thirst; give me some of that water."  Then Gluck
looked at him, and when he saw that he was pale and weary, he gave
him the water.  "Only pray don't drink it all," said Gluck.  But
the old man drank a great deal and gave him back the bottle two
thirds empty.  Then he bade him good speed, and Gluck went on again
merrily.  And the path became easier to his feet, and two or three
blades of grass appeared upon it, and some grasshoppers began
singing on the bank beside it, and Gluck thought he had never heard
such merry singing.

Then he went on for another hour, and the thirst increased
on him so that he thought he should be forced to drink.  But as
he raised the flask he saw a little child lying panting by the
roadside, and it cried out piteously for water.  Then Gluck
struggled with himself and determined to bear the thirst a little
longer; and he put the bottle to the child's lips, and it drank
it all but a few drops.  Then it smiled on him and got up and ran
down the hill; and Gluck looked after it till it became as small
as a little star, and then turned and began climbing again.  And
then there were all kinds of sweet flowers growing on the rocks--
bright green moss with pale pink, starry flowers, and soft belled
gentians, more blue than the sky at its deepest, and pure white
transparent lilies.  And crimson and purple butterflies darted
hither and thither, and the sky sent down such pure light that Gluck
had never felt so happy in his life.

Yet, when he had climbed for another hour, his thirst became
intolerable again; and when he looked at his bottle, he saw that
there were only five or six drops left in it, and he could not
venture to drink.  And as he was hanging the flask to his belt
again, he saw a little dog lying on the rocks, gasping for breath--
just as Hans had seen it on the day of his ascent.  And Gluck
stopped and looked at it, and then at the Golden River, not five
hundred yards above him; and he thought of the dwarf's words, that
no one could succeed except in his first attempt; and he tried to
pass the dog, but it whined piteously and Gluck stopped again.
"Poor beastie," said Gluck, "it'll be dead when I come down
again, if I don't help it."  Then he looked closer and closer at
it, and its eye turned on him so mournfully that he could not stand
it.  "Confound the king and his gold too," said Gluck, and he
opened the flask and poured all the water into the dog's mouth.

The dog sprang up and stood on its hind legs.  Its tail
disappeared; its ears became long, longer, silky, golden; its nose
became very red; its eyes became very twinkling; in three seconds
the dog was gone, and before Gluck stood his old acquaintance, the
King of the Golden River.

"Thank you," said the monarch.  "But don't be frightened;
it's all right"--for Gluck showed manifest symptoms of
consternation at this unlooked-for reply to his last observation.
"Why didn't you come before," continued the dwarf, "instead of
sending me those rascally brothers of yours, for me to have the
trouble of turning into stones?  Very hard stones they make, too."

"O dear me!" said Gluck, "have you really been so cruel?"

"Cruel!" said the dwarf; "they poured unholy water into my
stream.  Do you suppose I'm going to allow that?"

"Why," said Gluck, "I am sure, sir,--your Majesty, I mean,--
they got the water out of the church font."

"Very probably," replied the dwarf, "but" (and his
countenance grew stern as he spoke) "the water which has been
refused to the cry of the weary and dying is unholy, though it had
been blessed by every saint in heaven; and the water which is found
in the vessel of mercy is holy, though it had been defiled with corpses."

So saying, the dwarf stooped and plucked a lily that grew at his feet.
On its white leaves there hung three drops of clear dew.
And the dwarf shook them into the flask which Gluck held in his hand.
"Cast these into the river," he said, "and descend on the other side
of the mountains into the Treasure Valley.  And so good speed."

As he spoke the figure of the dwarf became indistinct.  The
playing colors of his robe formed themselves into a prismatic mist
of dewy light; he stood for an instant veiled with them as with the
belt of a broad rainbow.  The colors grew faint; the mist rose into
the air; the monarch had evaporated.

And Gluck climbed to the brink of the Golden River, and its
waves were as clear as crystal and as brilliant as the sun.  And
when he cast the three drops of dew into the stream, there opened
where they fell a small, circular whirlpool, into which the waters
descended with a musical noise.

Gluck stood watching it for some time, very much disappointed,
because not only the river was not turned into gold, but its waters
seemed much diminished in quantity.  Yet he obeyed his friend the
dwarf and descended the other side of the mountains towards the
Treasure Valley; and as he went he thought he heard the noise of
water working its way under the ground.  And when he came in sight
of the Treasure Valley, behold, a river, like the Golden River, was
springing from a new cleft of the rocks above it and was flowing in
innumerable streams among the dry heaps of red sand.

And as Gluck gazed, fresh grass sprang beside the new streams,
and creeping plants grew and climbed among the moistening soil.
Young flowers opened suddenly along the riversides, as stars leap
out when twilight is deepening, and thickets of myrtle and tendrils
of vine cast lengthening shadows over the valley as they grew.  And
thus the Treasure Valley became a garden again, and the inheritance
which had been lost by cruelty was regained by love.

And Gluck went and dwelt in the valley, and the poor were never
driven from his door, so that his barns became full of corn and his
house of treasure.  And for him the river had, according to the
dwarf's promise, become a river of gold.

And to this day the inhabitants of the valley point out the
place where the three drops of holy dew were cast into the stream,
and trace the course of the Golden River under the ground until it
emerges in the Treasure Valley.  And at the top of the cataract of
the Golden River are still to be seen two black stones, round which
the waters howl mournfully every day at sunset; and these stones are
still called by the people of the valley

THE BLACK BROTHERS