PART II
The Tree Man
There was a tree in the garden that was ideal to climb, and mother allowed the children to do so, for she had been very fond of climbing herself when she was a child.
They wore old serge skirts and jerseys that they could not spoil.
This tree made a splendid arbour, or house with a suite of rooms. Lottchen sat up in the branches like a little bird, and like a little bird she sang all the songs she knew. From this tree you could see the mountain called the Stellerskuppe and the blue sky through the tree-stems on the summit. At sunset time, the sky behind the trees turned a golden colour, till it looked like a picture of fairyland.
It was a fine view, but still you could not see from here the famous oak-tree, where the little green tree man lived. This was ten minutes' walk from the farm.
Trudel and Lottchen saw him first on a wet day when they had set out for a walk in spite of the rain, with their green waterproof cloaks on with hoods over their heads, looking for all the world like wood-goblins themselves. They were walking down a narrow green path, and mother was some distance behind.
"Do just look, Trudel," said Lottchen. "I believe there is a little man in that hollow tree!"
"So there is, he is smiling and bowing to us, let's go and visit him," said Trudel, always enterprising.
Lottchen hung back, feeling a little afraid; she was always on the look-out for the unexpected, and yet was surprised when something really happened.
"Come along, darling," said Trudel, grasping her smaller sister by the hand.
They both distinctly saw the little man; they said they could have drawn him afterwards, and indeed they attempted to do so as well as they could. But as they approached the venerable oak, the little man vanished, and all they saw was a strange green stain on the inside of the tree, resembling a dwarf with a peaked hood on.
"Just look at this Gothic window," said Lottchen, proud of her knowledge of the word "Gothic." "How nicely this tree-room is carved. I am sure he lives here; where are his little chairs and tables? I should love to see them."
They peeped through a window or hole in the old tree and saw their mother approaching.
"Mother, mother, here lives a real tree man; we saw him—didn't you?"
Mother smiled—what the children called her mysterious smile.
"You look like two little wood-men yourselves," she said. "Lottchen, stand up straight in the hole and look at me."
Lottchen stood up just fitting into the green mark on the tree behind her. She made a pretty picture, her laughing brown eyes with the long eyelashes, her rosy cheeks, and the wind-blown hair straying from under her hood.
"O look, Lottchen, here is a little basin of holy water, just like we saw in the cathedral," said Trudel.
| "Wood water, |
| Nice and brown, |
| In a little cup. |
| Wood water, |
| Wood wine, |
| Won't you drink it up?" |
said a tiny voice that sounded like that of a wood-bird.
"Mother! did you hear anything, mother?"
"Yes, darlings, the birds are singing so sweetly now the rain is over. I have brought my camp-stool. I shall sit here and sketch the tree," said mother.
"Do draw him," said Trudel, whose blue eyes were open wider than usual.
"Him! Whom do you mean?" said mother.
"Why, the tree man, of course."
"Hum," said mother mysteriously, "we'll see," and she settled herself down to sketch.
The children collected huge acorns, and laid them on a leaf in the hollow tree. Then they stirred up the brackish "holy" water and put their fingers in it.
"It smells like lavender and roses," said Lottchen.
"Well, you've got a funny nose; it smells to me like blackberry and apple-tart," said Trudel.
"Ha—ha—he!" said a little voice again. Somebody was laughing. Where could he be? Glancing round quickly the children saw a little man about three feet high, dressed in green, wearing a long peaked cap with a wreath of tiny oak-leaves around it. He looked very strong, although he was small, and he stuck his arms out akimbo in a curious angular way like the branches of an oak-tree.
"How did you know that trees were alive?" he asked the children.
They were embarrassed by the question.
"Why, of course we know they are not dead, unless they are cut down," they said.
The little man shuddered; then he began to wave his arms about wildly.
"Let them try to cut me down, I'll knock them down. I'll fall on them and crush their bones. I'll smash them like this stone!" Here he gave a stone that stood near by, such a tremendous whack that sparks flew out of it.
"Don't smash us, please, Mr Tree Man," said Lottchen trembling.
"No fear, little Miss Lottchen, no fear, you're a nice little thing, you are; one can see that to look at you. You would never cut me down, would you?"
"Why, of course not," said Lotty.
"I should not dream of such a thing either," said Trudel. "But may we ask who you are?" Trudel continued, "You are surely not a tree?"
"Well, it's like this," said the little man; "I'm a tree, and the tree's me!"
"I," said Trudel, correcting him, "would be more correct."
"Rubbish," said the little man, "Pedantic rot!—the tree's me, I repeat. Every tree has its gnome or elf; they used to call us dryads in old times; but nowadays people are getting so cock-sure of knowing everything, that they can't see what is going on right under their noses. Trees are never still," he continued; "they are always moving.
| "'Where there is movement, there is life, |
| Where there is life, there is thought, |
| Where there is thought, there is individuality.' |
"Do you follow me? That is logically expressed."
"You forget we are only children, Mr Tree Man; you are talking too grown-upy for us. Father talks like that sometimes; but then we don't listen," they replied.
"Well," continued the gnome, "in every tree there either lives a jolly fellow like me or a lovely lady fairy. Yes," he said in a sentimental tone, "I, too, old and tough though I am, I, too, have known love."
"Who is she?" asked Trudel eagerly.
"Alas! I can never reach her; my old bones are too stiff and unbendable. She is a graceful larch-tree in all the glory of her youth. You may see her yonder!" He sat down and sighed deeply.
The children looked in the direction that the gnome had indicated, and there they saw a larch-tree on which the sunlight had just fallen. It was exquisitely dressed in a robe of delicate green and—was it only fancy?—for one moment the children thought that they saw a lovely lady with flowing tresses that gleamed golden in the sunlight, and large starry eyes. As they gazed, she melted into the blue mist which shimmers always between the forest trees.
"Now we must go home, children," mother called out, "before it begins to rain again."
The children glanced round; their little friend had vanished, and no trace was to be seen of the lady of the larch-tree. So they turned reluctantly from the tree-house fully determined to come again very soon to this enchanted spot.
"Mother, may we see your sketch?"
"Not now," said mother, "it's going to be a surprise."
"Did mother see him too?"
"Do you think so?" said Lottchen. "Mother's a fairy herself."
"I think," said Trudel, "she sees all sorts of queer things; but she won't tell us everything she sees."
"It spoils some things to tell about them," said Lottchen. "I shan't tell Hermann and Fritz about the tree man."
However, when she got home again, she could not contain herself. "Do you believe in fairies and tree men?" she said to the boys.
"Of course not, that's all rot," said Hermann. "Like Santa Claus and such things, just invented to stuff us up!"
"Santa Claus will never come to you any more if you talk like that; he is quite true, I know. Trudel saw him come in last year when she was in bed, and she heard him filling our stockings. Of course she did not dare to turn round and look at him," said Lottchen.
"I don't say it isn't nice to believe such things," said Hermann conscientiously, "but it isn't true; it's superstitious. You know quite well, Trudel, who Santa Claus really is."
Trudel was silent; she was ten years old, and she had her doubts.
"But I've seen a tree man to-day," said Lotty.
The boys laughed.
"Don't try to stuff us up with such nonsense; we're not so green as your tree man," they said.
Gustel, the maid, came in, and joined in the conversation. She supported the boys' view.
"I don't care," said Lottchen, now in a high state of excitement. "My mother knows a man—a very clever Irishman—a poet and a painter as well, and he has often seen the fairies."
"Yes," said Trudel, "it's true he draws them just as he sees them with rainbow-coloured wings."
"Well I never, you don't expect me to believe such things, do you?" said Gustel. "Why, that's all lies, and it is very wicked to tell a lie!"
Lotty flew into a perfect tantrum. "How dare you say we tell lies; I will tell my mother of you," she screamed, and threw herself on the floor crying violently.
Mother rushed in, not knowing what had happened. "Lotty, get up at once; tell me what's the matter, darling!"
"Booh!—booh—booh!—Gustel won't believe—booh, booh, booh—that you know a man who has seen the fairies!"
Mother could not help laughing. "Don't be so absurd, Lotty. Of course Gustel does not understand what you mean. Gustel," she said, "you are a Catholic and believe in the saints; they saw very queer things too, sometimes, didn't they?"
"O yes, you're right; of course, ma'am," said Gustel, feeling embarrassed; for she had no arguments to support her disbelief in fairies.
"Some people can see more than others," continued mother. "Now if I were to tell you that I could see the old poacher or wild huntsman who used to live in this house, riding through the yard on a moonlight night, what would you say?"
"Lor, ma'am, if I saw him, I should die of fright," said Gustel, turning pale.
"But you know that there are no such things as ghosts and fairies!"
"Yes, ma'am, very true, ma'am, it's rather confusing what you say," said poor Gustel, feeling her head in a whirl.
It was a wonderful moonlight night. As father was still away, mother sat by herself in the big bedroom, whilst the children slept in the little room adjoining. There was a very high wind; the window-panes rattled; the wooden shutters blew to and fro; the branches of the trees made weird patterns on the ground. The moonlight was so white that the fields and paths looked almost as if they were covered with snow. The Stellerskuppe stood out black against the sky. As mother gazed, it seemed to her as if strange creatures were abroad that night, driven to and fro by that tireless hunter, the wind. Wild forms passed by and gazed at her with deathless eyes; for a while she remained there motionless, as under a spell. Then suddenly she remembered her joke about the old huntsman of evil repute, who had formerly lived in this farmhouse. Did his ghost haunt it still? Mother shivered; the nights were cold up in the mountains, though it was such a hot summer. She opened the door of the children's room and peeped in. To tell the truth, she felt a little creepy, and longed for human companionship. There were her darlings, sleeping soundly; but as she entered the room Trudel turned round and flung herself on the other side of the bed, saying: "Go away, go away, do not come near me!"
"Whom do you mean, darling?" said mother anxiously.
Then Trudel groaned and spoke again in her sleep. She uttered the following deep and mystic words: "Gustel, bring in the shark, please; mother can't eat the thimble."
Now, wasn't that a funny thing for a little girl to say in her sleep. Mother was so amused that she wrote the words down on the spot, so as not to forget them, and she troubled her head no more with thoughts of the wild huntsman; indeed the spectres of the night vanished as they always do vanish at a joke!
Some days passed, before the children visited the oak-tree again. When they did so, they found that an enormous branch had been broken off, and lay across the green pathway.
"O dear me," said Lottchen, "our poor little man. I hope it hasn't hurt him!"
"It must have happened on that windy night," said Trudel.
"It was my own fault, it was entirely my own fault," said a queer little voice, and there was the oak-tree man sitting in his house smoking a reed pipe. His arm was bound up with green fern leaves. "Yes, it was my own fault; the wind excited me, and stirred my sap (that's my blood you know)—I stretched out my arms towards her—one embrace—one blessed moment in which to call her mine—and here you see me a cripple for ever!"
"O poor thing, we are so sorry for you," said the children.
"Never mind, it heals easily," said the oak man, "but, alas, my beauty and my symmetry are gone for ever!"
"Your leaves are so nice and fresh; and your house is so pretty; why, you have got furniture in it," said the children in astonishment.
"Such a pretty oak table and beautifully carved chairs; where did you get them from?" asked Lottchen.
"I made them myself out of my own wood; it cheered me up a bit," said the little man. "One must do something, you know; looks snug, doesn't it? Ah, well—I have known love, that is something to be proud of; I have experienced the most pleasing of human emotions. Have you ever been in love?" he said inquisitively, looking at Trudel, who looked big enough in his eyes.
"Why no, not exactly, we're only kiddies; but still we do love lots of people, of course," said she.
"Your day will come, your day will come. Do not desire the unattainable, but content yourself with the reachable," he said; "and yet ''Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,' as the dear old poem says."
"He's getting grand in his language again; he is a funny little man," said Trudel in a whisper to Lottchen.
"Stay," said the tree man, "I have a good idea; I will give you a card of introduction to her, my beloved Lady Larch-tree."
He gave them an oak leaf with the words: "Edle Eiche," printed on it, which is in English Noble Oak.
"You need not say anything; she will know it comes from me," he said, sighing sentimentally.
Full of curiosity, the children turned to go to the larch-tree, which was only a few steps further down the green pathway. The ardent lover watched the children from the window of his little house. They knocked three times on the bark of the larch-tree; and they were very pleased when a door opened in the tree, and a lovely lady was revealed to them. Her dress was of green, looped up with tiny pink flowers such as grow on the larches in early spring; her hair streamed down like a soft veil about her. She hardly seemed to see the children at first, when they presented their cards. She took the oak-leaf cards and pressed them to her heart.
"Heart of oak! King of the forest! for ever mine," she murmured, and her words were like the sound that a little brook makes when it trickles beneath dark forest trees.
"He sends you his love," said the children politely.
"You dear little things," said Lady Larch; "it was so kind of you to come and call on me. So you understand trees and their language, dear, dear, so young and so clever! Would you like some wood wine?"
"Not if it is dirty water with caterpillars in it," said Trudel.
"O dear no, it is purified and refined; it is most delicious." So saying, she handed each of them a large acorn cup full; and they drank the contents.
"It does taste nice, dear fairy," said the children, "like what we make ourselves at a doll's feast. May we ask you for some more?"
"No, no, it is very strong, and would get into your heads, and you would find out all about…. No, I'm sorry … but——"
"Children," said mother's voice, "where are you? I have been looking for you."
"We have only been to call on Lady Larch, mother; she has shut her door tight again or we would have introduced you to her," said Lotty.