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

by Adelbert von Chamisso; Wilhelm Hauff

As he uttered these words he saw to his amazement a tiny, weird figure peeping forth from behind the great pine tree. He fancied he could see the little Glassmanikin just as the latter had been described to him, with his little black jerkin, little red stockings, little hat; everything, indeed, even the pale, but wise and refined little face of which he had heard so much. But, alas! the Glassmanikin vanished as quickly as he had appeared.

"Master Glassmanikin!" said Peter Munk, after a moment's hesitation, "please don't take me for a fool!--Master Glassmanikin, if you think that I did not catch sight of you, you are greatly mistaken: I saw you quite clearly peeping from behind the tree."

Still no answer, though, at times, he fancied he could hear a faint, hoarse chuckle from behind the tree. Finally, his impatience overcame his fear, which until now had restrained him.

"Just you wait a moment, you little beggar," he cried out, "I'll soon have you!" and at one bound he was behind the pine-tree, but there was no "guardian of gold in the pine-tree wold," nothing but a pretty little squirrel clambering away up the tree.

Peter Munk shook his head; he perceived that he had succeeded in working the spell to a certain degree; and if he could only think of the last line to the rhyme he would be able to induce the Glassmanikin to show himself. He pondered, and pondered, and pondered, but all to no purpose. He could see the little squirrel perched on the lowest branch of the pine, and he could not be sure whether it was trying to inspire him with courage or only making fun of him. It cleaned itself, whisked its beautiful tail to and fro, gazing at him all the while with intelligent eyes, until he began to be almost afraid of being alone with the creature; for, at one moment, the little squirrel appeared to have a human head covered with a three cornered hat; then it looked just like any other squirrel, except that on its hind legs it had red stockings and black shoes. In short it was a comical creature; but, nevertheless, it made Charcoal Peter feel quite uncomfortable, for it seemed to him to be so uncanny.

Peter returned at a quicker pace than he had gone thither. The gloom of the pine-forest seemed to be intensified, the trees grew in denser clumps, and at last he was so fearful that he broke into a run, and did not regain courage until he heard dogs barking in the distance, and saw, shortly afterwards the smoke from a cottage rising between the trees. On drawing nearer, he was able to distinguish the costume of the people in the cottage, and he realised to his consternation that he had fled in exactly the opposite direction to the one he had intended, and had arrived among the raftsmen instead of among the glass-blowers. The cottagers were wood-fellers, and the family consisted of an old man, his son, who was the owner of the cottage, and some grown-up grandchildren. They bade Charcoal-Peter a kindly welcome when he asked for a night's lodging, without questioning him as to his name or whence he came, offered him cider to drink, and set on the table for supper a large woodcock, which is the choicest dish of the Black Forest.

Dutch Michael felling the trees.

After supper the housewife and her daughters betook themselves to their spinning, sitting round the large burning wood-splinter, which served as light and which the young people kept fed with the finest pine-resin, while the grandfather, the house-owner and their guest smoked and watched the women, and the boys busied themselves cutting spoons and forks out of wood. Without, in the forest the storm howled and rushed through the pines, heavy thuds being heard every now and then, as if whole trees were being torn up by the roots and flung to earth. The fearless youngsters wanted to run out into the forest to witness the scene in all its awful grandeur, but their grandfather forbade them with stern words and looks. "I advise no one to set foot outside the door this night," he cried to them; "he who does so will never return; for Dutch Michael is abroad to-night hewing down timber for a new raft."

The young ones stared at him; although they must have heard many a time of Dutch Michael, yet they begged their grandfather to relate them once more some good story of that forest-spirit. Peter Munk, also, who had only heard vague rumours of Dutch Michael on his side of the forest, chimed in with the others and begged the old man to say who and what he might be.