The Marvellous History of the Shadowless Man, and The Cold Heart

by Adelbert von Chamisso; Wilhelm Hauff

Dutch Michael again, who dwells on the other side of the forest, is said to be a gigantic, broad shouldered fellow, dressed in like fashion to the raftsmen; and many people, who have seen him, are wont to declare that they would not like to bear the cost of the calves, the skins of which have gone to the making of the boots. "So big are they that an ordinary man could stand up to his neck in them," say the latter, protesting that the description is no exaggerated one.

Now, there is a story of the very strange adventure which a young Black Forester once had with these forest spirits, and which story I will now relate.

In the Black Forest there lived a widow, one Mistress Barbara Munk; her husband had been a charcoal burner, and after his death she brought up her son, a lad of sixteen, to the same calling. Peter Munk, a slenderly built young fellow, took to the business as a matter of course, because he had never seen his father do aught else but sit by his smoking charcoal-kiln, or, blackened and begrimed, travel to the towns to sell his charcoal.

Now, a charcoal-burner has a great deal of time for meditation on things as they are, and on himself; and as Peter Munk sat before his kiln, the dark trees around him and the heavy silence of the forest stirred his heart to sorrow and to vague longings. He felt grieved and vexed at something; but what that something was he could not tell. At last, the cause of his discontent was revealed to him: it was--his position in the world.

"A grimy, lonely charcoal-burner!" he exclaimed to himself. "What a wretched existence! Look at the glassblowers, the watchmakers, even the musicians who play on Sunday evenings--how they are respected! And I, Peter Munk, though cleaned up and dressed in my father's best jerkin with the silver buttons, and with my brand-new red stockings on, if someone follows me and asks himself 'Who can that slim young fellow be?'--admiring my stockings and easy gait, no sooner does he pass me and chance to look round, than he exclaims, 'Pooh, it's only that charcoal-burning Peter Munk after all.'"

The raftsmen on the other side of the forest were also objects of his envy. When these giants came over to his side of the forest, in all their glory of apparel, their buttons, chains and buckles representing great weight and wealth of silver; when they stood with outstretched legs looking on at the dancing, swearing Dutch oaths, and smoking yard-long Rhenish pipes like the grandest Mynheers, each of these handsome raftsmen appeared to him to be a perfect representation of a really happy man. And when one of these lucky fellows chanced to dive his hands into his pockets, bringing forth whole handsful of silver thalers, and throwing them down on the dice table, five gulden here, ten there, Peter became well-nigh distracted, and slunk dolefully back to his hut; for on many a festival he had seen one or other of these woodsmen play away more money than his poor father had been able to earn in a year.

There were three of these men in particular of whom he could not say which he admired the most. One was a big, fat, red-faced man, generally conceded to be the richest person in those parts. He was called Fat Ezekiel. Twice a year he travelled to Amsterdam with building timber, and always had the good fortune to dispose of it at so much better profit than his comrades could, that he was able to travel homewards in luxurious style, while they were compelled to return on foot.

The second was the tallest and lankiest fellow in the whole forest. He was called Lanky Schlurker, and Munk envied him because of his extraordinary boldness. He would flatly contradict the most worthy people, and always took up more room in the overcrowded tavern than was required by four others of the bulkiest, leaning with both elbows on the table, or stretching his legs along the bench; yet nobody dared to complain, for he was fabulously rich.

The third was a handsome young man, the best dancer for miles round, who had earned the nickname of the Dance King. He had formerly been a poor man in the service of a wealthy timber merchant; but all at once he had become immensely rich. Some said that he had found a jar, full of money, at the root of an old pine tree; others maintained that not far from Bingen on the Rhine he had brought up with his pole, such as the raftsmen use to spear fish, a bundle filled with gold, and that this bundle had formed part of the great Nibelung's hoard which lies buried there. But no matter--the fact was that he had suddenly become rich, and was consequently respected by young and old as if he had been a prince.

The charcoal-burner, Peter Munk, thought long and oft of these men as he sat alone among the pine-trees. All three of them had one great failing which made them hated by all; and this common failing was their inhuman avarice, their callousness towards debtors and the poor, for the Black-foresters were a kindly and good-hearted people. Nevertheless, as is often found in such cases, though they were hated because of their covetousness, they were held in awe because of their money; for who but they could fling thalers broadcast as though by simply shaking the pine-trees the money fell into their hands.