"I once saw Hoffman," says one, "in one of his night carouses. He was sitting in his glory at the head of the table, not stupidly drunk, but warmed with wine, which made him madly eloquent. There, in full tide of witty discourse, or, if silent, his hawk eye flashing beneath his matted hair, sat this unfortunate genius until the day began to dawn; then he found his way homeward.
"At such hours he used to write his wild, fantastic tales. To his excited fancy everything around him had a spectral look. The shadows of fevered thought stalked like ghosts through his soul."
This stimulated life came to a speedy conclusion. He was struck with a most strange paralysis at the age of forty-six.
His disease first paralyzed his hands and feet, then his arms and legs, then his whole body, except his brain and vital organs.
In this condition it was remarked in his presence that death was not the worst of evils. He stared wildly and exclaimed,--
"Life, life, only life,--on any condition whatsoever!"
His whole hope was centred in the gay world which had already become to him as a picture of the past.
But the hour came at last when he knew he must die. He asked his wife to fold his useless hands on his breast, and, looking at her pitifully, he said, "And we must think of God also."
Religion, in his gay years, as a provincial musician, and as a poet in the thoughtless society of the capital, had seldom occupied his thoughts.
His last thought was given to the subject which should have claimed the earliest and best efforts of his life.
"God also!" It was his farewell to the world. The demons had done their work. Life's opportunities were ended.
The words of his afterthought echo after him, and, like his own weird stories, have their lesson.
Herman Reed presented a story from a more careful writer. It is a story with an aim, and left an impressive lesson on the minds of all.
If it be somewhat of an allegory, it is one whose meaning it is not hard to comprehend.
THE HEART OF STONE.
The Black Forest, from time out of mind, has abounded with stories of phantoms, demons, genii, and fairies. The dark hue of the hills, the shadowy and mysterious recesses, the lonely ways, the beautiful glens, all tend to suggest the legends that are associated with every mountain, valley, and town. The old legends have filled volumes. One of the most popular of recent stories of the Black Forest is the "Marble Heart; or, the Stone-cold Heart," by Hauff.
Wilhelm Hauff, a writer of wonderful precocity, genius, and invention, was born at Stuttgart in 1809. He was designed for the theological profession, and entered the University of Tubingen in 1820. He had a taste for popular legends, and published many allegorical works. He died before he had completed his twenty-sixth year.
There once lived a widow in the Black Forest, whose name was Frau Barbara Munk. She had a boy, sixteen years old, named Peter, who was put to the trade of charcoal-burner, a common occupation in the Black Forest.
Now a charcoal-burner has much time for reflection; and as Peter sat at his stack, with the dark trees around him, he began to cherish a longing to become rich and powerful.
"A black, lonely charcoal-burner," he said to himself, "leads a wretched life. How much more respected are the glass-blowers, the clock-makers, and the musicians!"
The raftsmen of the forest, too, excited his envy. They passed like giants through the towns, with their silver buckles, consequential looks, and clay pipes, often a yard long. There were three of these timber-dealers that he particularly admired. One of them, called "Fat Hesekiel," seemed like a mint of gold, so freely did he use his money at the gaming-tables at the tavern. The second, called "Stout Schlurker," was both rich and dictatorial; and the third was a famous dancer.
These traders were from Holland. Peter Munk, the young coal-burner, used to think of them and their good fortune, when sitting alone in the pine forests. The Black Foresters were people rich in generous character and right principle, but very poor in purse. Peter began to look upon them and their homely occupations with contempt.
"This will do no longer," said Peter, one day. "I must thrive or die. Oh, that I were as much regarded as rich Hesekiel or powerful Schlurker, or even as the King of the Dancers! I wonder where they obtain their money!"
There were two Forest spirits, of whom Peter had heard, that were said to help those who sought them to riches and honor. One was Glassmanikin, a good little dwarf; and the other was Michael the Dutchman,--dark, dangerous, terrible, and powerful,--a giant ghost.
Peter had heard that there was a magic verse, which, were he to repeat it alone in the forest, would cause the benevolent dwarf, Glassmanikin, to appear. Three of the lines were well known,--
"O treasure-guarder, 'mid the forests green, Many, full many a century hast thou seen: Thine are the lands where rise the dusky pine--"
He did not know the last line, and, as he was but a poor poet, he was unable to make a line to fill the sense, metre, and rhyme.
He inquired of the Black Foresters about the missing line, but they only knew as much as he, else many of them would have called the fairy banker to their own service.
One day, as he was alone in the forest, he resolved to repeat, over and over, the magic lines, hoping that the fourth line would in some way occur to him.
"O treasure-guarder, 'mid the forests green, Many, full many a century hast thou seen: Thine are the regions of the dusky pine."
As he said these words he saw, to his astonishment, a little fellow peep around the trunk of a tree; but, as the fourth line did not come to him, Mr. Glassmanikin disappeared.
Peter went home, with his mind full of visions. Oh, that he were a poet! He consulted the oldest wood-cutters, but none of them could supply the missing line.
Soon after, Peter again went into the deep forest, his brain aching for a rhyme with _pine_. As he was hurrying along, a gigantic man, with a pole as big as a mast over his shoulder, appeared from behind the pine-trees. Peter was filled with terror, for he felt that it was none other than the giant-gnome, Michael the Dutchman.
[Illustration: PETER IN THE FOREST.]
"Peter Munk, what doest thou here?" he thundered.
"I want to pass this road on business," said Peter, in increasing alarm.
"Thou liest. Peter, you are a miserable wight, but I pity you. You want money. Accept my _conditions_, and I will help you. How many hundred thalers do you want?"
"Thanks, sir; but I'll have no dealings with you: I am afraid of your _conditions_. I have heard of you already."
Peter began to run.
The giant strode after him; but there was a magic circle in the forest that he could not pass, and, as he was near it, Peter was able to escape.
A great secret had been revealed to Peter, and he now thought he had the clew to the charm. The good dwarf, Glassmanikin, only helped people who were born on Sunday.
Possessed of this fact, Peter again ventured on into the deep forest. He found himself at last under a huge pine. He stopped there to rest, when suddenly a perfect line and rhyme occurred to him. He leaped into the air with joy, and exclaimed:--
"O treasure-guarder, 'mid the forests green, Many, full many a century hast thou seen: Thine are the regions of the dusky pine, And children born on Sabbath-days are thine."
A little old manikin arose from the earth at the foot of the pine.
He wore a black jerkin, red stockings, and a peaked hat. His face had a kindly expression, and he sat down and began to smoke a blue glass pipe.
"Peter, Peter," said the fairy, "I should be sorry to think that the love of idleness has brought you hither to me."
"No; I know that with idleness vice begins. But I would like a better trade. It is a low thing to be a charcoal-burner. I would like to become a glass-blower."
"To every Sunday-child who seeks my aid, I grant three wishes. If, however, the last wish is a foolish one, I cannot grant it. Peter, Peter, what are your wishes? Let them be good and useful."
"I wish to dance better than the King of Dancers."
"One."
"Secondly, I would always have as much money in my pocket as 'Fat Hesekiel.'"