The Nickel of the Röhrerbüchel

From the fourteenth to the sixteenth, in some few places down

to the seventeenth, centuries the mountains of Tirol were in many

localities profitably worked in the search after the precious metals;[42]

many families were enriched; and the skill of the Tirolese miners

passed into a proverb throughout Europe. When the veins lying near the

surface had been worked out, the difficulty of bringing the machinery

required for deeper workings into use, in a country whose soil has

nowhere three square miles of plain, rendered the further pursuit so

expensive that it was in great measure abandoned, though some iron and

copper is still got out. There are many old shafts entirely deserted,

and their long and intricate passages into the bowels of the earth

not only afford curious places of excursion to the tourist, but are

replete with fantastic memories of their earlier destination.

One of the most remarkable of these is the so-called Röhrerbüchel,

which is situated between Kitzbühl and St. Johann, and not far from

the latter place. It was one of the most productive and one of the

latest worked, and it boasted of having the deepest shaft that had

ever been sunk in Europe; but for above a hundred and fifty years it

has been taub [43], that is, deaf, to the sound of the pick and the

hammer and the voices of the Knappen [44].

I have given you my way of accounting for the cessation of the

mining-works. The people have another explanation. They say that the

Bergmännlein, or little men of the mountains--the dwarfs who were the

presiding guardians of these mineral treasures--were so disgusted

with the avarice with which the people seized upon their stores,

that they refused to lend them their help any more, and that without

their guidance the miners were no longer able to carry on their search

aright, and the gnomes took themselves off to other countries.

One of these little men of the mountains, however, there was in

the Röhrerbüchle who loved his ancient house too well to go forth

to seek another; he still lingered about the mile-long clefts and

passages which once had been rich with ore, and often the peasants

heard him bewailing, and singing melancholy ditties, over his lonely

fate. They even thought he came out sometimes to watch them sadly

in their companionship of labour, and peeped through their windows

at them in their cosy cottages, while it was cold and dark where he

stood without: and many there were who took an interest in the Nickel

of the Röhrerbüchel.

The Goigner Jössl [45] had been mowing the grassy slope near the

opening of the Röhrerbüchl; he was just putting up his implements to

carry home after his day's toil, when he espied the orphan Aennerl

[46] coming towards him. Her dark eyes had met his before that day,

and he never met her glance without a thrill of joy.

"I have been over to Oberndorf for a day's work," said orphan Aennerl,

"and as I came back I thought I would turn aside this way, and see

how you were getting on; and then we can go home together."

"So we will," answered Jössl; "but we're both tired, and the sun

isn't gone yet--let's sit down and have a bit of talk before we go."

Orphan Aennerl was nothing loath; and they sat and talked of the

events of the day, and their companions, and their work, and the

weather, and the prospects of the morrow. But both seemed to feel

there was something else to be said, and they sat on, as not knowing

how to begin.

At last Jössl removed his pointed hat from his head and laid it by his

side, and took out and replaced the jaunty feathers which testified

his prowess in the holiday sport [47], and finally cleared his throat

to say, softly,--

"Is this not happiness, Aennerl?--what can we want more in this

world? True, we work hard all day, but is not our toil repaid when

we sit together thus, while the warm evening sun shines round us,

and the blue heaven above and the green fields below smile on us,

and we are together? Aennerl, shall we not be always happy together?"

They were the very words that orphan Aennerl had so often longed to

hear her Jössl say. Something like them she had repeated to herself

again and again, and wondered if the happy day would ever come when

she should hear them from his own lips. Had he said them to her any day

of her whole life before, how warmly would she have responded to them!

To-day, however, it was different. The rich peasant's wife for whom

the poor orphan worked had been harsh to her that day, and for the

first time envious thoughts had found entrance into her mind, and

discontent at her lowly lot.

So, instead of assenting warmly, she only said,--

"Of course it's very nice, Jössl, but then it's only for a little

bit, you see. The hard toil lasts all day, nevertheless. Now to have

a Hof [48] of one's own, like the one I work upon at Oberndorf, with

plenty of cattle, and corn, and servants to work for you, that's what

I should call being happy! Sitting together in the sunset is all very

well, but we might have that besides."

The good, hard-working, thrifty, God-fearing Jössl looked aghast to

hear his Aennerl speak so. Beyond his day's wage honestly worked for,

and the feather in his Trutzhut bravely contended for, and his beloved

Aennerl wooed with tenderness and constancy--he had not a thought or

a wish in the wide world. Hitherto her views had been the counterpart

of his; now, for the first time, he perceived there was something

had come between them, and he felt disappointed and estranged.

"If that's your view, Aennerl girl, it isn't the Goigner Jössl that

will be able to make you happy," replied the youth at length, coldly;

"your best chance would be with the Nickel of the Röhrerbüchel," he

added, almost bitterly, as one who would say, Your case is desperate;

you have no chance at all.

"What was that?" said Aennerl, suddenly starting. "Who can be working

so late? Don't you hear a pick go 'click, clack'? Who can it be?"

"No one is working at this hour," replied Jössl, in no mood to be

pleased at the interruption. But as he spoke the bells of the villages

around toned forth the Ave-Maria. Both folded their hands devoutly

for the evening prayer; and in the still silence that ensued he could

not deny that he heard the sound of the pick vigorously at work,

and that, as it seemed, under the ground directly beneath their feet.

"It is the Bergmännlein--it must be the Bergmännlein

himself!" exclaimed Aennerl, with excitement.

"Nonsense! what silly tales are you thinking of?" replied Jössl,

inwardly reproaching himself for the light words he had just spoken

suggesting the invocation of a superstition with which his honest,

devout nature felt no sympathy; and, without letting the excited girl

exert herself to catch the strange sounds further, he led her home.

Aennerl's curiosity was roused, however, and was not to be so easily

laid to rest.

The next evening Jössl's work lay in a different direction, but no

sooner had the hour of the evening rest arrived than he started on the

road to Oberndorf, to see if he could meet his Aennerl coming home. But

there was no Aennerl on the path; and he turned homewards with a heavy

heart, fearing lest he had offended her, and that she was shunning him.

But Aennerl, whom the desire of being rich had overcome with all the

force of a new passion, had been more absorbed on that last memorable

evening by the idea of having heard the Bergmännlein at work amid the

riches of the mines than with--what would have been so terrible a grief

at any other time--having offended her faithful Jössl. Accordingly,

on the next evening, instead of being on the look-out for Jössl to

walk home with her, her one thought had been to find out the same

place on the bank where they had sat--not with loving affection to

recall the happy words she had heard there, but to listen for the

sound of the Bergmännl's axe, and perhaps follow it out; and then--and

then--who could tell what might befall? Perhaps she might be able to

obtain some chips of those vast wealth-stores unperceived; perhaps

the Bergmännl's heart might be opened to her--who could say but,

in some mode or other, it might be the way to fortune?

She was not long in tracing out the spot, for she had marked the angle

which the well-known outline of the mighty Sonnengebirg bore to the

jagged "comb [49]" of the Kitzbichler-Horn, and for a nearer token,

there lay, just before her, the crushed wild-flower which her Jössl

had twisted and torn in his nervousness as he had brought himself to

speak to her for the first time of their future. But she thought not

of all that at that time; she was only concerned to find the spot,

and to listen for the stroke of the Nickel's pickaxe. "Hush!" that

was it again, sure enough! She lingers not on that happy bank; she

stops not to pick up one of those wild-flower tokens: 'click, clack,'

goes the axe, and that is the sound to guide her steps. The village

bells sound the Ave-Maria, but the sacred notes arrest her not--the

evening prayer is forgotten in the thirst for gold.

But Jössl heard the holy sound as he was retracing his steps

mournfully from his fruitless search after her, having missed her by

but a minute's interval. He heard it as he was passing a little old,

old wayside chapel, which you may yet see, with a lordly pine-tree

overshadowing it, and which records the melancholy fate of some Knappen

who perished in the underground workings. Jössl, who has no fear on the

steep mountain-side, and loves to hang dangerously between earth and

sky when he is out after the chamois, shudders when he thinks of those

long, dark, mysterious passages where the miners worked underground,

and, as he kneels on the stone step of that wayside memorial, obedient

to the village-bell, involuntarily applies his prayer to all those

who have to penetrate those strange recesses: "Be with them; help them

now and in the hour of death. Amen." If you had told him his Aennerl

was included in that prayer he would not have believed you then.

Meantime Aennerl had found her way to the opening of the old mine. It

has a lateral shaft through which you may walk some distance--a

very long way it seemed to Aennerl, now breathless and trembling,

but the nearing sounds of the Bergmännl's tool kept up her courage,

and determined her not to give in till she had attained the goal.

On she went, groping her way with fear and trembling, and expecting

every moment to come upon some terrible sight. But, far from this,

in proportion as she got deeper into the intricate passages of the

Röhrerbüchel, the way, instead of getting darker, grew lighter and

lighter. A pale, clear, rosy light played on the sides of the working,

which, now that she looked at them close, she found to her astonishment

were not made of rough, yellow clay, as she had thought hitherto,

but of pure, sparkling gold, and encrusted with gems!

It was no longer fear that palsied her, it was a fascination of

delight at finding herself in the midst of those riches she coveted,

but the near approach of which brought back misgivings of the danger

of their possession of which she had so often heard, though without

ever previously feeling an application to herself in the warning.

Her curiosity far too strongly stimulated to yield to the counsel of

her conscience to turn and flee the temptation, she walked stealthily

on and on, till the faint, rosy light grew into a red, radiant glow,

which, as she reached its focus, quite dazzled her senses.

She now found herself in a broad and lofty clearing, into which the

long narrow passage she had so long been timorously pursuing ran,

and in the sides of which she saw the openings of many other similar

ramifications. The walls, which arched it in overhead and closed

it from the daylight, were of gold and silver curiously intermixed,

burnished resplendently, and their brilliance so overcame her that

it was some minutes before she could recover her sight to examine

more particularly the details of this magnificent abode.

Then she discovered that all this blaze of light came from one huge

carbuncle [50], and that carbuncle was set in the breast-bib of the

leathern apron worn by a dwarf, the clang of whose pickaxe had lured

her to the uncanny spot.

The dwarf was much too busily and too noisily engaged to notice

Aennerl's footsteps, so she had plenty of leisure to examine him. He

was a little awkward-shaped fellow, nearly as broad as he was long,

with brawny muscular arms which enabled him to wield his pick with

tremendous effect. He seemed, however, to be wielding it merely

for exercise or sport, for there did not appear to be any particular

advantage to be gained from his work, which only consisted in chipping

up a huge block of gold, and there were heaps on heaps of such chips

already lying about. Though his muscles displayed so much strength,

however, his face gave you the idea of a miserable, worn-out old man;

his cheeks were wrinkled and furrowed and bronzed; and the matted

hair of his head and beard was snowy white. As he worked he sang,

in dull, low, unmelodious chant, to which his pick beat time,--

"The weary Bergmännl, old and grey,

Sits alone in a cleft of the earth for aye,

With never a friend to say, 'Good day.'

For a thousand years, and ten thousand more,

He has guarded earth's precious silver store,

Keeping count of her treasures of golden ore

By the light of the bright Karfunkelstein [51],

The only light of the Bergmännlein

But never a friend to say, 'Good day,'

As he sits in a cleft of the earth for aye,

Has the lonely Bergmännl, old and grey!"

He had poured out his ditty many times over while Aennerl stood

gazing at the strange and gorgeous scene. The ugly, misshapen,

miserable old man seemed altogether out of place amid the glories of

the wonderful treasure-house; and the glittering treasures themselves

in turn seemed misplaced in this remote subterranean retreat. Aennerl

was quite puzzled how to make it all out. It was the Nickel of the

Röhrerbüchel who was before her, she had no doubt of that, for he

was exactly what the tradition of the people had always described

him, and she had heard his ungainly form described before she could

speak; so familiar he seemed, indeed, from those many descriptions,

that it took away great part of the fear natural to finding herself

in so novel a situation.

At last the dwarf suddenly stopped his labour, and, as if in very

weariness, flung the tool he had been using far from him, so that

it fell upon a heap of gold chips near which Aennerl was standing,

scattering them in all directions. One of the sharp bits of ore hit

her rudely on the chin, and, anxious as she was to escape observation,

she could not suppress a little cry of pain.

Old and withered and haggard as he seemed, the Cobbold's eye glittered

with a light only second to that of the Karfunkelstein itself at the

sound of a maiden's voice, and quickly he turned to seize her. Aennerl

turned and fled, but the Nickel, throwing his leathern apron over

the shining stone on his breast, plunged the whole place in darkness,

and Aennerl soon lost her footing among the unevennesses of the way

and lay helpless on the ground. Her pursuer, to whom every winding

had been as familiar as the way to his pocket these thousand years,

was by her side in a trice, still singing, as he came along,--

"But never a friend to say, 'Good day,'

As he sits in a cleft of the earth for aye,

Has the lonely Bergmännl, old and grey!"

The self-pitying words, and the melancholy tone in which they were

uttered, changed most of Aennerl's alarm into compassion; and when the

dwarf uncovered the carbuncle again, and the bright, warm red light

played once more around them, and showed up the masses of gold after

which she had so longed, she began to feel almost at home, so that

when the dwarf asked her who she was and what had brought her there,

she answered him quite naturally, and told him all her story.

"To tell you the truth," said the Cobbold, when she had finished,

"I am pretty well tired of having all this to myself. I was very

angry at one time, it is true, with the way in which your fellows

went to work destroying and carrying every thing away, and leaving

nothing for those that are to come after, and I was determined to

put a stop to it. I am not here to look after one generation, or two,

or three, but for the whole lot of you in all the ages of the world,

and I must keep things in some order. But now they have given this

place up and left me alone, I confess I feel not a little sorry. I

used to like to listen to their busy noises, and their songs, and

the tramp of their feet. So, if you've a mind to make up for it,

and come and sit with me for a bit now and then, and sing to me some

of the lively songs you have in your world up there, I don't say I

won't give you a lapful of gold now and then."

A lapful of gold! what peasant girl would mind sitting for a bit now

and then, and singing to a poor lonely old fellow, to be rewarded

with a lapful of gold? Certainly not Aennerl! Too delighted to speak,

she only beamed assent with her dark, flashing eyes, and clapped her

hands and laughed for joy.

"It's many a day since these walls have echoed a sound like that," said

the dwarf, with deep feeling, and as Aennerl's smile rested on him, it

seemed to wipe away some of the rough dark wrinkles that furrowed his

cheeks and relax the tension of his knit brows. "And yet there's more

worth in those echoes than in all the metallic riches which resound to

them! Yes, my lass, only come and see the poor old Bergmännl sometimes,

and cheer him a bit, and you shall have what you will of his."

With that he led her gently back into the great vault where she had

first seen him working, and, stirring up a heap with his foot, said,--

"There, lass, there's the Bergmännl's store; take what you will--it is

not the Bergmännl that would say nay to a comely wench like you. Why,

if I were younger, and a better-looking fellow, it would not be my

lapfuls of gold I should offer you, it would be the whole lot of

it--and myself to boot! No, no, I shouldn't let you go from me again:

such a pretty bird does not come on to the snare to be let fly again,

I promise you! But I'm old and grey, and my hoary beard is no match for

your dainty cheeks. But take what you will, take what you will--only

come and cheer up the poor old Bergmännl a bit sometimes."

Aennerl had not wanted to be told twice. Already she had filled her

large pouch and her apron and her kerchief with all the alacrity

of greed. So much occupied was she with stowing away the greatest

possible amount of the spoil, that she scarcely remembered to thank

the Bergmännl, who, however, found pleasure enough in observing the

rapturous gestures her good fortune elicited.

"You'll come again?" said the Cobbold, as he saw her turn to go when

she had settled her burden in such a way that its weight should least

impede her walking.

"Oh, yes, never fear, I'll come again! When shall I come?"

"Oh, when you will! Let's see, to-day's Saturday, isn't it? Well,

next Saturday, if you like."

"Till next Saturday, then, good-bye!" said Aennerl, panting only to

turn her gold to account; and so full was she of calculation of what

she would do with it, that she never noticed the poor old dwarf was

coming behind her to light her, and singing, as he went,--

"The weary Bergmännl, old and grey,

Sits alone in a cleft of the earth for aye,

With never a friend to say, 'Good day.'

For a thousand years, and ten thousand more,

He has guarded earth's precious silver store,

Keeping count of her treasures of golden ore

By the light of the bright Karfunkelstein,

The only light of the Bergmännlein.

But never a friend to say, 'Good day,'

As he sits in a cleft of the earth for aye,

Has the lonely Bergmännl, old and grey!"

Aennerl had no time for pity; she was wholly absorbed in the

calculation of the grand things she could now buy, the fine dresses

she would be able to wear, and in rehearsing the harsh speeches of

command with which she would let fling at the girls whom she would

take into her service, and who yesterday were the companions-in-labour

of orphan Aennerl.

The village was all wrapt in silence and sleep as Aennerl got back

with her treasure.

"So late, and so laden! poor child!" said the parish priest, as he

came out of a large old house into the lane, and met her. "I have

been commending to God the soul of our worthy neighbour Bartl. He was

open-handed in his charity, and the poor will miss a friend; he gave us

a good example while he lived--Aennerl, my child, bet' für ihn [52]."

Aennerl scarcely returned his greeting, nor found one word of sorrow

to lament the loss of the good old Bartl; for one thought had taken

possession of her mind at first hearing of his death. Old Bartl had

a fine homestead, and one in which all was in good order; but Bartl

was alone in the world, there was no heir to enter on his goods: it

was well known that he had left all to the hospital, and the place

would be sold. What a chance for Aennerl! There was no homestead in

the whole Gebiet [53] in such good order, or so well worth having,

as the Hof of old Bartl.

Aennerl already reckoned it as hers, and in the meantime kept an eye

open for any chances of good stock that might come into the market.

Nor were chances wanting. The illness which had carried old Bartl to

the grave had been caught at the bedside of the Wilder Jürgl [54]. A

fine young man he had been indeed, but the villagers had not called him

"Wild" without reason; and because he had loved all sorts of games,

and a gossip in the tavern, and a dance with the village maids more

than work, all he had was in confusion. He always said he was young,

and he would set all straight by-and-by, there was plenty of time. But

death cut him off, young as he was; and his widow found herself next

morning alone in the world, with three sturdy boys to provide for,

all too young to earn a crust, and all Jürgl's debts to meet into the

bargain. There was no help for it: the three fine cows which were the

envy of the village, and which had been her portion at her father's

death, only six months before, must be sold.

Aennerl was the purchaser. Once conscience reproached her with a

memory of the days long gone by, when she and that young widow were

playmates, when orphan Aennerl had been taken home from her mother's

grave by that same widow's father, and the two children had grown up

in confidence and affection with each other. "Suppose I left her the

cows and the money too?" mused Aennerl--but only for a moment. No;

had they been any other cows, it might have been different--but just

those three which all the village praised! one which had carried

off the prize and the garland of roses at the last cow-fight [55],

and the others were only next in rank. That was a purchase not to be

thrown away. Still she was dissatisfied with herself, and inclined

to sift her own mind further, when she was distracted by the approach

of loud tramping steps, as of one carrying a burden.

It was the Langer Peterl; and a goodly burden he bore, indeed--a

burden which was sure to gather round him all the people of Reith,

or any other place through which he might pass.

Aennerl laughed and clapped her hands. "Oh, Peterl, you come erwünscht

[56]!" she exclaimed. "Show me what you have got to sell--show me all

your pretty things! I want an entirely new rig-out. Make haste! show

me the best--the very best--you have brought."

"Show you the best, indeed!" said the Langer Peterl, scarcely

slackening his pace, and not removing the pipe from his mouth; for

hitherto he had only known the orphan Aennerl by her not being one of

his customers. "Show you the best, indeed, that what you can't buy you

may amuse yourself with a sight of! And when you've soiled it all with

your greasy fingers, who'll buy it, d'you suppose? A likely matter,

indeed! Show you the best! ha! ha! ha! you don't come over me like

that, though you have got a pair of dark eyes which look through into

a fellow's marrow!"

"Nonsense, Peterl!" replied Aennerl, too delighted with the thought

of the finery in prospect even to resent the taunt; "I don't want

to look at it merely--not I, I can tell you! I want to buy it--buy

it all up--and pay you your own price! Here, look here, does this

please you?" and she showed him a store of gold such as in all his

travels he had never seen before.

"Oh, if that's your game," said the long Peter, with an entirely

changed manner, "pick and choose, my lady, pick and choose! Here are

silks and satins and laces, of which I've sold the dittos to real

ladies and countesses; there are----"

"Oh, show me the dittos of what real ladies and countesses have

bought!" exclaimed Aennerl, with a scream of delight; and the pedlar,

who was not much more scrupulous than others of his craft, made

haste to display his gaudiest wares, taking care not to own that

it was seldom enough his pack was lightened by the purchases of a

"real lady." To have heard him you would have thought his dealings

were only with the highest of the land.

But it needed only to say, "This is what my lady the Countess of

Langtaufers wears," "This is what my lady the Baronin Schroffenstein

bought of me," for Aennerl to buy it at the highest price the Long

Peter's easy conscience could let him extort; and, indeed, had he not

felt a certain commercial necessity for reserving something to keep up

his connexion with his ordinary customers on the rest of his line of

route, orphan Aennerl would have bought up all that was offered her

under these pretences, and without stopping to consider whether the

materials or colours were well assorted, or whether such titles as

those with which the pedlar dazzled her understanding existed at all!

The next day was a village festival in Reith. And the quiet people of

Reith thought the orphan Aennerl had gone fairly mad when they saw at

church the extravagant figure she cut in her newly-acquired finery;

for, in her hurry to display it, she had in one way and another piled

her whole stock of purchases on her person at once. A showy skirt

embroidered with large flowers of many colours, and trimmed with

deep lace, was looped up with bright blue ribbons and rosettes over a

petticoat of violet satin, beneath which another of a brilliant green

was to be seen. Beneath this again, you might have descried a pair of

scarlet stockings; and on her shining shoes a pair of many-coloured

rosettes and shoe-buckles. The black tight-fitting bodice of the local

costume was replaced by a kind of scarlet hussar's jacket trimmed with

fur, fastened at the throat and waist with brooches which must have

been originally designed for a stage-queen. From her ears dangled

earrings of Brobdignagian dimensions; and on her head was a hat and

feathers as unlike the little hat worn by all in Reith as one piece

of head-gear could well be to another.

Of course, it did not befit a lady so decked to take the lowly seat

which had served the orphan Aennerl; before the Divine office began

she had seated herself in the most conspicuous place in the church,

so that no one lost the benefit of the exhibition; and it may well

be believed that the congregation had no sooner poured out of the

sacred building than the appearance of the orphan Aennerl was the

one theme of a general and noisy conversation.

For some it was a source of envy; for some, of ridicule; for some

unsophisticated minds, of simple admiration. But the wiser heads kept

silence, or said, in tones of sympathy, "The orphan Aennerl isn't

the girl the Goigner Jössl took her for."

Jössl had been to church in his own village of Goign, and had therefore

been spared the sight, as well as the comments it had elicited. But

as he came towards Reith to take his Aennerl for the holiday walk,

he noticed many strange bits of hinting in the greetings he received,

which puzzled him so, that, instead of going straight on to Aennerl,

he sat down on the churchyard wall, pondering what it could all

mean. "I wish you joy of your orphan Aennerl!" one had said. "Goigner

Jössl, Goigner Jössl, take my advice, and shun the threshold of orphan

Aennerl!" were the words of another, and he was an old man and a sage

friend too. "Beware, Goigner Jössl, beware!" seemed written on every

face he had met--what could it all mean? He wandered forward uncertain,

and then back again, then on again, till he could bear it no longer,

and he determined to go down to the Wirthshaus beim Stangl, and ask

his mates to their face what they all meant.

Before he came in sight of the door, however, he changed his

resolution. Through the open window he heard noisy talk, and noisiest

of all was the voice of the Langer Peterl. Honest Jössl had an

invincible antipathy to the wheedling, the gossip, the bluster, and

the evil tongue of the Langer Peterl, and he never trusted himself to

join his company, for he knew a meeting with him always led to words.

Determining to wait till he was gone, he walked about outside, and

as there is always a train of waggons waiting at the Wirthshaus am

Stangl while the wayworn carters refresh themselves, he could easily

remain unperceived.

Thus, however, he became unintentionally the hearer of all he desired

to know--much more than he desired, I should say.

"I tell you, she,--Aennerl would have bought my whole pack if I'd

have let her!" vociferated the Langer Peterl; "and I might have

saved myself all further tramping, but that I wouldn't disappoint my

pretty Ursal, and Trausl, and Moidl, and Marie," he added, in a tone

of righteousness.

"Buy it, man! you don't mean buy it! She got it out of you one way

or another, but you don't mean she bought it, in the sense of paying

for it?"

"Yes, I do. I say, she paid for it in pure gold!"

"No, that won't do!" said other voices; "where could she get gold

from?"

"Oh, that's not my affair," replied the pedlar, "where she got it

from! It wouldn't do for a poor pedlar to ask where his customers

get their money from--ha! ha! ha! I'm not such a fool as that! I

know the girl couldn't have it rightfully, as well as you do, but it

wouldn't do for me to refuse all the money I suspect is not honestly

come by--ha! ha! I should then drive a sorry trade indeed!"

Jössl's first impulse had been to fly at the Langer Peterl, and, as

he would have expressed it, thrust the lie down his throat; but then,

he reflected; where had the girl got the money from? what could he

say? To dispute it without having means of disproving it was only

opening wider the sore; and while he stood dejected and uncertain

the conversation went on more animated than before.

"I agree with you!" cried, between two whiffs of smoke, an idle

Bursch, on whom since the death of the Wilder Jürgl that nickname had

descended by common consent. "What right have we to be prying into

our neighbour's business? If the girl's got money, why should any

one say she hasn't a right to it? She's an uncommon fine girl, I say,

and looks a long way better than she did before in her beggarly rags;

and a girl that can afford to dress like that is not to be despised,

I say."

That the speaker had only received the cognomen of Wild after the

Wilder Jürgl was only in that he was younger; he had earned the

right to it in a tenfold degree. None of the steady lads of either

Goign or Reith or Elmau, or any other place in the neighbourhood,

would make a friend of him, and that is why he now sat apart from

the others smoking in a corner.

To be praised and defended by the Wilder Karl was a worse compliment

than to be suspected by the steadier ones. The words therefore threw

the assembly into some embarrassment for a moment, till the Kleiner

Friedl [57], a sworn friend of Jössl, thinking he ought to strike a

blow in his defence somewhere, cried out, in a menacing tone,--

"Very well played, Wilder Karl! but I see your game. You think because

the girl's got money she's a good chance for you. You think her

flaunting way will estrange steady Goigner Jössl, and then you think

you may step in between them--and a sorry figure she'd cut two days

after you'd had the handling of her! She wouldn't have much finery

left then, I'll warrant! The Langer Peterl there would have it all

back at half-price, and that half-price would all be in the pocket

of our honest Wirth am Stangl. But it's in vain; whatever she is,

she'll be true to the Goigner Jössl, I'll warrant--and as for you,

she wouldn't look at you!"

Wilder Karl rose to his feet, and glared at the Kleiner Friedl with

a glance of fury. "I wager you every thing you and I have in the

world, that I'll make her dance every dance with me at the Jause

[58] this very night!" and he shook his fist with a confident air,

for he had a smooth tongue and a comely face, and Aennerl would not

have been the first girl these had won over.

"That you won't," said the Wirth, coming to Friedl's rescue, who was

but a young boy, and had felt rather dismayed at the proposed wager,

"for I'm not sure, till all this is cleared up, that I should admit her

to the dance. But the difficulty will not arise, for Aennerl herself

told my daughter Moidl that now she could wear a lady's clothes it

would be impossible for her to come any more to the village dance."

Strengthened by the support of the Wirth [59], the Kleiner Friedl

felt quite strong again; and he could not forbear exclaiming, "There,

I told you there was no chance for you, Wilder Karl!"

But Wilder Karl, furious at the disappointing news of the Wirth,

and maddened by the invective of the Kleiner Friedl, rushed at the

boy head-over-heels, bent on mischief.

But Wilder Karl, though a bully and a braggart, inspired no respect,

because no feather adorned his hat, and that showed he was no champion

of any manly pursuit. So the whole room was on the side of Kleiner

Friedl; and the bully having been turned out, and the subject of

conversation pretty well exhausted, the Goigner Jössl turned slowly

home.

Now I don't say that he was right here. He was an excellent young

man, endowed in an especial degree with Tirolese virtues. His parents

had never had a moment's uneasiness about him; no one in the whole

village was more regular or devout at church; in the field none more

hard-working or trustworthy; at the village games and dances none

acquitted himself better; and had a note of danger to his country

sounded in his time I am sure he would have been foremost to take

his place among its living ramparts, and that none would have borne

out the old tradition of steadfastness more manfully than he.

But of course he had his faults too. And one of his faults was the

fault of many good people,--the fault of expecting to find every one

as good as themselves, of being harsh and unforgiving, of sulking

and pining instead of having an open explanation.

Now, mind you, I think it would have been much better if Jössl had,

after hearing the conversation I have just narrated, gone straight on

to Aennerl's, and had it all out with her, had heard from her own lips

the truth of the matter about which all Reith and Goign were talking,

and judged her out of her own mouth, giving her, if he could not

approve her conduct, advice by which she might mend it in the future.

But this was not his way. He had thought his Aennerl a model, almost

a divinity. He had always treated her as such, talked to her as such,

loved her as such. It was clear now, however, that in some way or

other she had done wrong. Instead of getting to the bottom of it, and

trying to set it straight, he gave himself up to his disappointment

and went home and sulked, and refused to be comforted.

Aennerl, meantime, knew nothing of all this. She had had a great desire

to be a lady and no longer a servant; and having plenty of money,

and plenty of fine clothes, she thought this made her a lady, and had

no idea but that every one acknowledged the fact. I don't think she

exactly wished that all the village should be envious of her, but at

all events she wished that she should enjoy all the prerogatives of

ladyhood, and this, she imagined, was one. Then she had no parents

to teach her better, and Jössl, who might have been her teacher,

had forsaken her.

But it was all too new and too exciting for her to feel any misgivings

yet. She amused herself with turning over all her fine things, and

fancied herself very happy.

In another day or two the Hof of good neighbour Bartl was put up for

sale, and another visit to the Bergmännlein enabled her to become the

purchaser. She thus became the most important proprietor in Reith;

but she was so little used to importance that she did not at all

perceive that the people treated her very differently from the former

proprietor of the Hof.

Before him every hat was doffed with alacritous esteem due to his

age and worth. But poor Aennerl hardly received so much as the old

greeting, which in the days of companionship in poverty had always

been the token of good fellowship with her, as with every one.

It was long before any suspicion that she was mistrusted reached the

mind of Aennerl. In the meantime she enjoyed her new condition to

the full. Weekly visits to the Röhrerbüchel enabled her to purchase

every thing she desired; and when the villagers held back from her,

she ascribed their diffidence to the awe they felt for her wealth.

In time, however, the novelty began to wear off. She grew tired at

last of giving orders to her farm-servants, and watching her sleek

cattle, and counting her stores of grain. That Jössl had not been

to see her, she never ascribed to any thing but his respect for her

altered condition; and she felt that she could not demean herself by

being united to a lad who worked for day-wages.

Still grandeur began to tire, and her isolation made her proud,

and angry, and cross; and then people shunned her still more, and

upon that she grew more vexed and angry. But, worse than this, she

got even so used to her riches that she quite forgot all about the

Nickel to whom she owed them. Her farm was so well stocked that it

produced more than her wildest fancies required; she had no need to

go back to the Röhrerbüchel to ask for more gold, and she had grown

too selfish to visit it out of compassion to the dwarf.

The Bergmännlein upon this grew disappointed; but his disappointment

was of a different kind from Jössl's. He was not content to sit apart

and sulk; he was determined to have his revenge.

One bleak October night, when the wind was rolling fiercely down

from the mountains, there was a sudden and fearful cry of "Fire!" in

the village of Reith. The alarm-bells repeated the cry aloud and

afar. The good people rose in haste, and ran into the lane with that

ready proffer of mutual help which distinguishes the mountain-folk.

The whole sky was illumined, the fierce wind rolled the flames and

the smoke hither and thither. It was Aennerl's Hof which was the

scene of the devastation. The fire licked up the trees, and the farm,

and the rooftree before their eyes. So swift and unnatural was the

conflagration that the people were paralyzed in their endeavour to

help. One ran for ladders, another for buckets; but before any help

could be obtained the whole homestead was but one vast bonfire. Then,

madly rushing to the top of the high pointed roof, might be seen the

figure of Aennerl clothed only in her white night-dress, and shrieking

fearfully, "Save me! save me!" Every moment the roof threatened to fall

in, and the agonized beholders watched her and sent up loud prayers,

but were powerless to save.

Suddenly, on the road from Goign a figure was seen hasting along. It

was the Goigner Jössl. Would he be in time? The crowd was silent now,

even their prayers were said in silence, for every one gasped for

breath, and the voice failed. A trunk of an old branchless tree yet

bent over the burning ruins. Jössl had climbed that trunk and was

making a ladder of his body by which to rescue Aennerl all frantic

from the roof. Will he reach her? Will his arm be long enough? Will

he fall into the flame? Will he be overpowered by the smoke? See! he

holds on bravely. The smoke rolls above his head, the flames dart

out their fierce fangs beneath him! He holds on bravely still. He

calls to Aennerl. She is fascinated with terror, and hears him

not. "Aennerl! Aennerl!" once more, and his voice reached her, and

with it a sting of reproach for her scornful conduct drives her to

hide her face from his in shame.

"Aennerl! Aennerl!" yet once again; and he wakes her, as from a dream,

to a life like that of the past the frenzy had obliterated. She forgets

where she is; but the voice of Jössl sounded to her as it sounded in

the years gone by, and she obeys it mechanically. She comes within

reach--and he seizes her! But the flames are higher now, and the

smoke denser and more blinding. "Jesus Maria! where are they? They

have fallen into the flames at last! Jesus, erbarme Dich ihrer [60]!"

"Hoch! Hoch! Hoch [61]!" shouts the crowd, a minute later. "They

are saved, Gott sei dank, they are saved!" and a jubilant cry rings

through the valley which the hills take up and echo far and wide.

On the edge of the crowd, apart, stands a little misshapen old man

with grey, matted hair and beard, whom no one knows, but who has

watched every phase of the catastrophe with thrilling emotion.

It was he who first raised the cry that they had fallen into the

flames; and the people sickened as they heard it, for he spoke it in

joy, and not in anguish. In the gladness of the deliverance they have

forgotten the old man, but now he shouted once more, as he dashed his

hood over his head in a tone of disappointed fury, "I did it! and I

will have my revenge yet!"

"No; let there be peace," said Jössl, who had deposited Aennerl

in safe hands, and now came forth to deal one more stroke for her;

"let there be peace, old man, and let bygones be bygones."

"Never!" said the Cobbold; "I have said I will have my revenge,

and I will have it!"

"But," argued Jössl, "have you not had your revenge? All you gave

her you have had taken away--she is as she was before: can you not

leave her so?"

"No!" thundered the dwarf; "I will have the life of her before

I've done."

"Never!" in his turn shouted Jössl; and he placed himself in front

of the elf.

"Oh, don't be afraid," replied the dwarf, with a cold sneer, "I'm not

going after her. I've only to wait a bit, and she'll come after me."

Jössl was inclined to let him go, but remembering the instability

of woman, he thought it better to make an end of the tempter there

and then.

"Will you promise me, that if I let you return to your hole in peace,

you will do her no harm should she visit you there again?"

"I promise you that I will serve her to the most frightful of

deaths--that's what I promise you!" retorted the enraged gnome.

"Then your blood be on your own head!" said Jössl, and, with his

large hunting-knife drawn in his hand, he placed himself in a menacing

attitude before the now alarmed dwarf.

Jössl was a determined, powerful youth, not to be trifled with. The

gnome trusted to the strength of his muscles, and fled with all

his speed; but Jössl, who was a cunning runner too, maintained his

place close behind him. The dwarf, finding himself so hotly followed,

began to lose his head, and no longer felt so clearly as at first the

direction he had to take to reach the Röhrerbüchel. Jössl continued

to drive him before him, puzzling him on the zigzags of the path

till he had completely lost the instinct of his way of safety. Then,

forcing him on as before to the edge of the precipice, he closed upon

him where there was no escape.

Yes, one escape there was--it was in the floods of the Brandenburger

Ache, which roared and boiled away some hundred feet below! Rather

than fall ignominiously by the hand of a child of man, the gnome

dashed himself, with a fierce shout, down the abyss. And that was

the last that was ever seen of the Nickel of the Röhrerbüchel.

Aennerl was now poorer than ever in this world's goods, but she was

rich in one deep and wholesome lesson--that it is not glittering wealth

which brings true happiness. The smiles of honest friends, and the

love of a true heart, and the testimony of an approving conscience are

not to be bartered away for all the gold in all the mines of the earth.

Wilder Karl laughed with his two or three boon companions, and said,

with a burst of contempt, "I've no doubt that fool of a Goigner Jössl

will marry the orphan Aennerl now that she hasn't a penny to bless

herself with!"

And the Wilder Karl judged right. Aennerl scarcely dared hope that he

could love her still, and she went forth humbly to her work day by

day, neither looking to the right hand nor the left, accepting all

the hardships and humiliations of her lot as a worthy punishment of

her folly and vanity.

But one evening as she came home from her toil, the Goigner Jössl

came behind her, and he said softly in her ear, "Do you love me still,

Aennerl?"

"Love you still, Jössl!" cried the girl; "you have thrice given me

life--first when I was a poor, heartbroken orphan, and you made me

feel there was still some one to live for in the world; and then a

second time, in that dreadful fire, when hell seemed to have risen

up out of the earth to punish me before the time; and now again this

third time, when I began to think my folly had sickened you for good

and all! Don't ask me that, Jössl, for you must know I love you more

than my life! If I dared, there is one question I should ask you,

Can you still love me? but I have no right to ask that."

"I must answer you in your own words, Aennerl," replied Jössl:

"you must know that I love you more than my life!"

"You must, you must--you have shown it!" exclaimed Aennerl. They

had reached the bank near the Röhrerbüchel where we first saw them;

the rosy light of the sunset, and the scent of the wild flowers,

was around them just as on that night.

"Yes," said Aennerl, after a pause, as if it were just then that

Jössl had said the words--"yes, Jössl, this is happiness; we want

nothing more in this world than the warm sun, and the blue sky--and

to be together! Yes, Jössl, we shall always be happy together."

They walked on together; as they reached the memorial of the dead

miners the village bells rang the Ave. And as they knelt down,

how heartfelt was Jössl's gratitude that the prayer he had uttered

at that spot once before had been so mercifully answered, and his

Aennerl restored to him for ever!

[42] The dwarfs who were considered the genii of the mineral

wealth of the country were a sub-class of the genus dwarf.

Their myths are found more abundantly in North Tirol,

where the chief mines were worked.

[43] A deserted mine is called in local dialect taub.

[44] Miners.

[45] i.e. Joseph of Goign, a village near St. Johann. Such modes of

designation are found for every one, among the people in Tirol.

[46] Ann.

[47] Every body wears feathers according to their fancy in their

"Alpine hats" here, but in Tirol every such adornment is a distinction

won by merit, whether in target-shooting, wrestling, or any other

manly sport; and, like the medals of the soldier, can only be worn

by those who have made good their claim.

[48] Hof, in Tirol, denotes the proprietorship of a comfortable

homestead.

[49] To Spaniards the outline of a mountain-ridge suggests the edge

of a saw--sierra; to the Tirolese the more indented sky-line familiar

to them recalls the teeth of a comb.

[50] Garnets and carbuncles are found in Tirol in the Zillerthal,

and the search after them has given rise to some fantastic tales--of

which later.

[51] Carbuncle.

[52] Pray for him.

[53] District.

[54] Wild Georgey.

[55] In some parts of Tirol where the pastures are on steep slopes,

or reached by difficult paths--particularly the Zillerthal, on which

the scene of the present story borders--it is the custom to decide

which of the cattle is fit for the post of leader of the herd by trial

of battle. The victor is afterwards marched through the commune to

the sound of bells and music, and decked with garlands of flowers.

[56] "Just as I wanted you."

[57] Little Frederick.

[58] A local expression for a village fête.

[59] The old race of innkeepers in Tirol were a singularly trustworthy,

honourable set, acting as a sort of elder or umpire each over his

village. This is still the case in a great many valleys out of the

beaten track.

[60] "Have mercy on them!"

[61] The cry which in South Germany is equivalent to our "hurrah!"