Select Popular Tales from the German of Musaeus

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Contents.

Legends of Rubezahl:—

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In a Series like the present, intended chiefly for the purposes of recreation, and including a considerable number of translations from foreign writers, we should hardly have been pardoned for passing over the Popular Tales of Musaeus, which have so long been established favourites in their own country. The present Volume contains such a selection from the whole Series as seemed best fitted for the general English reader; and,—in order to adapt the Stories as much as possible to popular use,—in several places, where the original was thought somewhat prolix, the Editor has not scrupled to use his judgment in condensing them. In particular, the first Legend of Rübezahl will be found to be rather a summary of the Story than a translation; the object of inserting it in this collection, indeed, being chiefly to serve as an introduction to the two Tales which follow.

Musaeus must not be looked upon as much more than an amusing writer; nor, indeed, does he profess to write with any high moral purpose; still, to those who are disposed to find it, a moral may, without much difficulty, be deduced from many of his Tales. We may observe, for instance, the hardening effects of vanity and pride in the case of the wicked Richilda; and, again, in the story of the “Nymph of the Fountain,” we see the sad results of an easy credulity on the part of the Count, who listens but too readily to the false accusations against his wife; while invisible powers are watching over her safety, and at last vindicate her innocence at the moment of her extreme peril.

We need hardly remark, that the sources of these stories are to be found in the popular legends with which Germany abounds, and many of which are known in our own country with more or less variation. The author’s manner of treating them, however, is so original and ingenious, that we almost forget that we have known them before: an old acquaintance may be said to meet us, in the pages of Musaeus, with all the freshness and interest of entire novelty; and we may well forget that the tale of “Roland’s Squires” is but an embellished version of the simple legend of the “Three Soldiers and the Dwarf,”—“Richilda” of “Snowdrop,”—“The Nymph of the Fountain” of “Catskin,” and so on. For these legends in their unadorned state, we may refer to Grimm’s famous “Kinder and Hausmärchen,” or to “Household Tales and Traditions” (in this Series), where the greater part of them will be found. These Stories are so captivating in their original form, that we almost regret, at first, that any attempt should be made to embellish them; and, indeed, nothing but the wit and cleverness of a Musaeus, or, on the other hand, the poetry and deep earnestness of a Tieck, could compensate for the loss of their simple beauty. However, we believe they may be relished in both ways; and, without further preface, we commend the following specimens to the reader.

Mute Love

here was once a wealthy merchant, called Melchior of Bremen, who always used to stroke his chin with a kind of complacence when he heard the parable of the rich man in the Gospel read, whom, in comparison with himself, he considered but a poor shopkeeper. Such, indeed, was his wealth, that he had the floor of his banqueting-room paved with dollars; for luxury, though of a more substantial kind, was prevalent in those rude times, as well as now: and while his friends and fellow-citizens were not much pleased at such a proof of his ostentation, yet it was, in fact, intended more as a mercantile speculation than for idle display. He was sagacious enough to see that reports would go abroad of his excessive wealth, which would greatly add to his credit even among those who censured his vanity. This was exactly the case; his idle capital of old dollars, so prudently as well as ostentatiously employed, brought large returns of interest: it was a visible bond of payment which gave vigour to all the wily merchant’s undertakings. Yet, in the end, it proved the rock upon which the stability of his house was wrecked.

Melchior one day partaking rather too freely of a rich liquor at a city feast, died suddenly, without having time even to make his will. His son, however, having just attained the age of manhood, succeeded to the whole of the property. Franz was a noble-spirited youth, endowed with many excellent qualities. Health glowed on his cheek, while content and animation shone in his dark eyes. He grew like a vigorous plant, which only requires water and a hardier soil to bear noble fruit, but which shoots to waste in too luxuriant ground. The father’s prosperity, as is often the case, was unhappily the son’s ruin; for no sooner did Franz find himself possessed of so princely a fortune, than he contrived how he could best get rid of it: and instead of smiling in scorn at the rich man in the parable, he imitated his example only too closely. He feasted in the most sumptuous manner, and altogether forgot his duties in the continual round of pleasure into which he had plunged himself.

No feasts could be compared for superfluity and splendour with those he gave, nor will the good city of Bremen ever behold such substantial and magnificent proofs of hospitality, as long as it is a city, again; each citizen was presented with a fine joint of roast beef, with a flask of Spanish wine; the people drank to the health and long life of old Melchior’s son, and young Franz became the hero of the day.

In this giddy maze of delights, no wonder he never thought of a balance of accounts, then the “vade mecum” of our old merchants, but since unfortunately gone too much out of fashion. Hence the evident tendency of the modern system towards heavy losses and utter bankruptcy, as if the scale were drawn down by magnetic influence. Still the old merchant’s coffers had been so well stocked as to give his son no sort of uneasiness; hitherto his difficulty was rather how to dispose of his annual income. Open house, well-furnished tables, and throngs of parasites, loungers, &c., left our hero small time for reflection; one kind of pleasure followed another; his friends took care to provide a succession of extravagances lest he should pause, and think, and thus the prey should be snatched from their plundering grasp.

Suddenly the stream of prosperity ceased to flow; Franz found he had drained his father’s money-casks to their very lees. He ordered his steward one day to pay a large sum: he was not, however, in a condition to meet the demand, and he returned the bill. This was a severe reflection upon the young spendthrift; but he flew into a violent passion with his cashier, instead of blaming himself. He gave himself no kind of trouble to inquire into the cause; like too many thoughtless characters, he heaped reproaches upon his steward, and shrugging up his shoulders, ordered him, in very laconic style, to “find means!”

Now was the time for the old usurers and brokers of the city. They furnished Franz with means to continue his mad career, though on very exorbitant terms. In the eye of a creditor, a room well paved with dollars was then better security than bills upon an American house, or even upon the United Provinces. It served as a good palliative for a period; but it shortly got wind that the silver pavement had disappeared, and was replaced with one of stone. Judicial inquiry on the part of the creditors followed, and it was ascertained to be the fact. No one could deny that a floor of variegated marble, like mosaic, was more elegant for a banqueting-hall than one of old worn-out dollars; but the creditors, entertaining little reverence for his improved taste, one and all demanded their money. This not being paid, a commission of bankruptcy was issued against him; and forthwith an inventory was made of all the property,—the family mansion, the magazines, grounds, gardens, furniture, &c. All was then put up to auction, and Franz found himself deprived of all he possessed. He had saved a few of his mother’s jewels, however, from the general wreck, and with the help of these he contrived to prolong existence for a period, though not in a very enviable manner.

He now saw clearly through his past errors. He lamented and repented of his faults, and tried his best to resign himself to his altered lot. He took up his abode in a retired quarter of the city where the sunbeams seldom shone, except towards the longest day, when they occasionally glanced over the high-built roofs. Here he found all he looked for in his present reduced circumstances. He dined at his host’s frugal board; his fire-side was a protection against the cold; and he had a roof to shelter him from the effects of rain and wind: here, too, a new object awakened his attention and engaged his thoughts. Opposite his window, in the same narrow street, lived a respectable widow, who, in expectation of better times, gained a scanty livelihood, by means of her spinning-wheel, on which, with the assistance of a marvellously fair maiden, her only daughter, she produced every day such a quantity of yarn that it would have reached round the whole city of Bremen, ditch, walls, suburbs and all. These two spinners were not born for the wheel; they came of a good family, and had lived, at one time, in opulence and prosperity. The husband of Brigitta, and the father of young Mela, had been the owner of a merchant-vessel, which he freighted himself, and in which he made every year a voyage to Antwerp. But while Mela was yet a child, a dreadful storm buried him and his ship, with the crew and a rich cargo, in the waves.

Her mother, a sensible well-principled woman, bore the loss of her husband and of her whole property with wise composure. Notwithstanding her poverty, she refused, with a noble pride, all the offers of assistance which the compassion or benevolence of her friends and relations prompted them to make; deeming it dishonourable to receive alms, as long as she could hope to obtain the means of subsistence by the labour of her hands. She resigned her large house and its costly furniture to the hard-hearted creditors of her late husband, took her present humble dwelling, and spun from morning till night. At first this occupation appeared very irksome, and she often moistened the thread with her tears. By her industry, however, she was enabled to preserve herself independent, and to save herself from incurring unpleasant obligations; she accustomed her daughter to the same mode of life, and lived so sparingly that she even saved a small sum, which she laid out in buying lint; and, from that time, carried on a trade in that article on a small scale.

This excellent woman, woman, however, whilst doing her best in her poor circumstances, nevertheless ventured to look forward to better times, hoping one day to be restored to something of that prosperity she had been deprived of, and to enjoy, in the autumn of her life, some of that sunshine which had gladdened its spring. Nor was this hope altogether an empty dream; it sprung from rational observation. She saw her daughter’s charms unfold as she grew up, like a blooming rose, but not like it to fade and fall as soon as it is ripened into beauty. She knew her to be modest and virtuous, and gifted with such excellent qualities, that she already found in her society consolation and happiness. She therefore denied herself, sometimes, the common necessaries of life, to give her daughter the advantage of a respectable education; being convinced that, if a maiden only answered the description which Solomon has given of a good wife, such a costly pearl would be sought after, and selected as the brightest ornament an honest man could possess.

Virtue, united with beauty, were then quite as valuable in the eyes of young men, as powerful relations and a large fortune are at present. There were, likewise, a far greater number of competitors for a maiden’s hand, a wife being then considered as the most essential, and not as (according to the present refined economical theory) the most unnecessary part of the household. The beauteous Mela, it is true, bloomed more like a rare costly plant in a greenhouse, than a healthy shrub in the free air. She lived quietly, and in retirement, under her mother’s care and protection; visited neither the public walks, nor assembly-rooms, and, contrary to all the present principles of marrying policy, scarcely once in a twelvemonth went outside of her native city. Mothers, now-a-days, know better; they look upon their daughters as a capital, which must circulate to produce interest; in those times, they were kept under lock and key, like hoarded treasure; but bankers knew where it was hidden, and how to obtain it.

One day, as Franz was at the window, observing the weather, he saw the beautiful Mela returning from church, where she regularly accompanied her mother to service. In his days of prosperity, he had paid little or no attention to the other sex; the chords of his finer feelings had never yet been struck, his senses having been blunted and bewildered by the incessant intoxication of pleasure, in which his companions had kept him.

Now, however, that he had become a wiser and better man, the stormy waves of youthful turbulence were still, and the slightest breeze ruffled the mirror-like surface of his soul. He was enchanted at the sight of the most lovely woman he had ever seen! and he began questioning his landlord concerning his fair neighbour, and her mother, from whom he learnt the greater part of what the reader already knows.

He now felt still more vexed with himself for his wasteful extravagance, as it had deprived him of the means of providing handsomely for the lovely Mela, which his growing inclination would have prompted him to do. His miserable lodgings now appeared a palace to him, and he would not have exchanged them for the best house in Bremen. He passed great part of his time at the window, watching for his beloved; and, when she appeared, he felt a keener sensation of pleasure than the astronomer experienced, who first saw Venus pass over the sun’s disk. Unfortunately for him, the careful mother was vigilant in her observations, and soon discovered the cause of his constant presence at the window. As he was none of her favourites, on account of his former behaviour, she was so much offended at his continual watching and staring, that she kept her window-curtains close drawn, and desired Mela never to appear at the window. When she took her to church, she put a thick veil over her face, and hurried round the corner as fast as she could to screen her treasure from the unhallowed gaze of our hero.

Poor Franz was not famous for his penetration; but love awakens all our faculties. He perceived that he had given offence by his intruding looks, and immediately retreated from the window. He now employed all his invention to find out the means of continuing his observations unseen, in which he succeeded without much trouble. He hired the largest looking-glass he could get, and hung it up in his room in such a manner that it reflected every thing which passed in the opposite room of his fair neighbour. For many days he never showed himself, till, at length, the curtains were drawn back by degrees, and the mirror sometimes received and reflected the beautiful form of the maiden to the great delight of its possessor. As love rooted itself deeper in his heart, his desire to make his feelings known to Mela grew stronger, and he resolved, if possible, to learn the state of her heart towards him.

It was, indeed, much more difficult in those modest times for youths to get introduced to the daughters of a family than at present; and Franz’s forlorn condition added to those difficulties. Notwithstanding this, however, things took their course as well then as now. Christenings, weddings, and burials, especially in a city like Bremen, were the privileged occasions for negotiating love affairs; as the old proverb says, “No marriage takes place but another is planned.” An impoverished spendthrift, however, not being a desirable son, or brother-in-law, our hero was invited neither to weddings, christenings, nor burials. The by-ways of influencing the lady’s-maid, waiting-woman, or some other subordinate personage, was, in Franz’s case, likewise blocked up, for mother Brigitta kept neither one nor the other; she carried on her little trade in lint and yarn herself, and was nearly as inseparable from her daughter as her shadow.

Under such circumstances, it was impossible for Franz to open his heart to his beloved, either by speaking or writing; but he soon invented a language which seems expressly intended for the idiom of lovers. The honour of being the first inventor does not, indeed, belong to our hero; long before his time, the sentimental Celadons of Italy and Spain were in the habit of chanting forth the feelings of their hearts, under the balconies of their donnas. Their melodious pathos, more powerful than the eloquence of Cicero, or Demosthenes, rarely failed in its aim, and not only expressed the lover’s feelings, but was usually successful in exciting in the object of his flame similar warm and tender emotions.

In a doleful hour, therefore, he seized his lute, and calling forth strains that far surpassed his usual powers, in about a month he made such rapid progress, that he might very well have been admitted to play an accompaniment to Amphion. To be sure, his sweetest melodies were at first little noticed, but, ere long, they attracted the admiration of the whole neighbourhood; for, the moment he touched his lute, mothers succeeded in quieting their children, the riotous little urchins ran away from the doors, and, at length, he had the delight of beholding a white hand open the window opposite, when he began to prelude an air. Having so far gained Mela’s ear, he played several happy and triumphant strains, as if to express his joy; but when her mother’s presence or other occupations deprived him of her sight, his sorrow broke forth in mournful tones, expressive of the agony of disappointed affection.

Mela proved an apt pupil, and soon acquired a knowledge of the new language. Indeed, she often made an experiment, to learn whether she interpreted it correctly, and invariably found that she could influence the invisible musician’s tones according to her own feelings. Mild and modest young maidens are more correct in observation, and possess quicker perceptions than those wild careless creatures, sporting from object to object, like a simple butterfly, without fixing long upon any. Fair Mela’s vanity was somewhat flattered at finding she could bring just such strains as she liked best, whether mournful or merry, from her young neighbour’s lute.

page7Occupied with trade, her mother paid no kind of attention to the music; and her daughter did not think it necessary to impart her late observations. She rather wished, either from inclination, or as a proof of her sagacity, to show that she understood, and also knew how to reply to the symbolical language, in some other way that would discover equal skill. With this view, she requested her mother to permit her to place a few flower-pots in the window, and the good lady no longer observing the prying young neighbour, and dreaming of no possibility of any harm, easily gave her permission. Now, to attend to all these flowers, to water, to bind them up to the sticks, and to watch their progress in leafing, and budding, and flowering, brought their young mistress very often to the window. It was now the happy lover’s turn to explain these hieroglyphics, and he never failed to send his joyous greetings across the way to the attentive ear of his sweet young gardener, through the medium of his lute. This, at length, began to make a powerful impression on her young heart; and she felt vexed at her mother for calling him a spendthrift, a very worthless fellow, which she took great pleasure in repeating during their conversations after dinner; sometimes even comparing him to the prodigal son. Poor Mela, though with great caution, would venture to take his part, ascribing his follies to youthful indiscretion, and the seductions of bad companions; adding, “that now that he had had time for reflection, he had, in all probability, become a reformed character.”

Meanwhile the youth, whom the old lady was so busily reviling at home, was indulging only the kindest feelings towards her, reflecting in what way, as far as his situation would permit, he could best improve her circumstances. His motive, to be sure, was rather to assist the young than the old lady by his gifts. He had just obtained secret information that her mother had refused Mela a new dress, under pretence of bad times. Apprehensive lest a present from an unknown would be refused, and that all his hopes might be blasted were he to name the donor, it was only by chance that he was relieved from this awkward dilemma, and the affair succeeded according to his wishes. He heard that Mela’s mother had been complaining to a neighbour that the crop of flax having proved so small, it had cost her more than her customers would pay her again, and that this branch of the trade was become wholly unprofitable. Franz directly hastened to a goldsmith’s, sold a pair of his mother’s gold earrings, and purchasing a quantity of lint, sent it by a woman to offer it to his neighbour at a more moderate price. The bargain was concluded, and on such good terms, that on next All Saints’ Day the lovely Mela was seen in an elegant new dress.

At the moment our hero was congratulating himself on the success of his stratagem, it was unluckily discovered. For mother Brigitta, desirous of doing a kindness to the good woman who had served her in the sale of the lint, invited her to a treat, very common in those days, before tea and coffee were known, of rice-milk, made very savoury with sugar, richly spiced, and a bottle of Spanish wine. Such a repast not only set the old lady’s lips in motion, as she sipped and sipped, but likewise loosened her tongue. She declared she would provide more lint at the same price, granting her merchant would prove agreeable; which, for the best of reasons, she could not doubt. The lady and her daughter very naturally inquired further, until their female curiosity was gratified at the expense of the old woman’s discretion, and she revealed the whole secret. Mela changed colour, not a little alarmed at the discovery; though she would have been delighted had her mother not been present. Aware of her strict notions of propriety, she began to tremble for her new gown. The good lady was, indeed, both shocked and displeased at so unexpected a piece of intelligence, and wished as much as her daughter that she alone had been made acquainted with it, lest their young neighbour’s liberality, by making an impression on the girl’s heart, might eventually thwart all her plans. She forthwith determined to adopt such measures as should eradicate every seed of budding affection which might be lurking in Mela’s heart. Spite of the tears and entreaties of its possessor, the gown was next day sold, and the proceeds, together with the profits of her late bargain, returned under the pretence of an old debt, by the hand of the Hamburg trading messenger, to young Mr. Franz Melchior. He received the packet as an especial blessing on the part of Providence, and only hoped that all the debtors of his father’s house might be induced to discharge their debts with as much punctuality as the honest unknown. The truth never glanced across his mind; for the gossiping old body was careful not to betray her own treachery, merely informing him that Madame Brigitta had wholly discontinued the lint trade. His more faithful mirror, however, shortly told him that a great change had occurred in the opposite dwelling in the course of a single night. The flower-pots had vanished, and the blinds were drawn down even closer than before. Mela was rarely to be seen; and when she did appear, like the lovely moon, gleaming through a mass of dark clouds on the benighted traveller, her eyes were downcast, she looked as if she had been weeping, and he fancied he saw her wipe a tear away. The sight of her filled his heart with sorrow; he took his lute, and in soft Lydian measures expressed the language of his grief. Then he tried to discover the source of her anxiety, but here he was quite at a loss. Not many days afterwards he remarked that his looking-glass was useless: it no longer reflected the form of his beloved. On examining more minutely into the cause, he found that the curtains had been removed; that the rooms were not inhabited; his neighbours had left the place in perfect silence only the evening before.

Now, alas! he might approach the window, inhale the fresh air, and gaze as much as he pleased. But what was all this to him—to him, who had just lost sight of the dearest object on the face of the earth! On first recovering from the trying shock, he was led to make many sage reflections; and, among others, the painful one that he had been the cause of their flight. The sum of money he had received, the cessation of the lint trade, and the departure,—each seemed to throw light upon the other. It occurred to him, that Madame Brigitta must have discovered his secret; that he was no favourite with her, and that this was no kind of encouragement. Yet the symbolic language he had held with the fair maiden herself,—the flowers and the music, seemed to revive his spirit. No! he was sure she did not hate him;—her melancholy, and the tears he had seen her shed, not long before she went, served to restore his confidence and courage. Of course, his first effort was to find out the ladies’ new residence, in order to renew, by some means or other, his delightful intercourse with the lovely Mela. This he soon accomplished; but he was grown too prudent to follow them, contenting himself with frequenting the same church, whither they went to hear mass, and never omitting to meet them, sometimes in one place, and sometimes in another, on their return. He would then find opportunities of greeting Mela kindly, which was about as gratifying as a billet-doux.

Yet both were mute: neither had exchanged a single word, though they as perfectly comprehended each other as any language could have made them do. Both vowed in their inmost hearts to preserve the strictest secrecy and fidelity, and never even to dream of forgetting one another.

Directly opposite to their humble lodgings lived an opulent brewer, whom the witlings of the day chose to call the King of Hops, on account of his great wealth. He was a spruce young widower, whose time of mourning was just drawing to a close, and who, without offending the laws of decorum, might now look out for a second helpmate.

Scarcely had he seen the fair Mela, than he formed his determination. Early the next morning he made himself as smart as possible, and sallied forth on his marriage business. He had no taste for music, and was ignorant of all the secret symbols and expressions of love; but his brewery was extensive; he had, besides, a large capital lent out at interest, a ship in the Weser, and a farm near the town. With such recommendations, he might well look for success, especially with a maiden who had no marriage portion.

According to the old custom, he went immediately to mother Brigitta, and, like a kind and affectionate neighbour, declared to her the honest intentions he had, in respect to her virtuous daughter. The appearance of an angel could not have delighted the good old lady more than this joyful piece of news. She now saw her well-laid plans about to be accomplished, and her long deferred hopes gratified. She blessed the circumstances that induced her to leave her former habitation; and, in the first spring of joy, looking on Franz as partly the cause of this, she thought with kindness even of him. Though he had never been a favourite with her, still she promised herself to make him, by some means or other, a sharer in her prosperity.

In her heart, she regarded the marriage articles as already signed, but decency required her to take some time for deliberation in so weighty an affair; she therefore thanked the honourable suitor for his good intentions; promised to consult with her daughter on his proposal; and to give him, as she hoped, a favourable answer at the end of eight days. With this, he seemed very well pleased, and politely took his leave.

He had scarcely turned his back, when the spinning-wheel, spite of its faithful services, was banished as useless lumber. When Mela returned from church, she was astonished at observing this sudden alteration in their parlour, where every thing had been put in order, as if it were some great festival of the church. But she was still more astonished at observing her mother, who was unusually industrious, sitting idle on a week-day, and smiling in such a way as to show she had not met with any disaster. Before she could ask her, however, about this change in the house, the latter gave an explanation of the miracle. Conviction was in her own heart, and a stream of female eloquence flowed from her lips, as she described, in the most glowing colours she could find in the range of her imagination, the happiness which awaited them. She expected from her daughter the gentle blush of modesty, and then a complete resignation to her will. For, in those times, daughters were exactly in the same situation as to marriage, as princesses at present. Their inclinations were never consulted, and they had nothing further to say in the choice of their husbands, than to give their assent at the altar.