THE MAGIC BOW

      ONCE there was a little boy whose name was Frieder, and who had neither father nor mother. He was as handsome as a picture, and when he was playing in front of the house in the street, people would stop and ask, “ Whose little one is that ? “ Then the surly old woman who brought him up on thin broth and plentiful scoldings would answer, “He is nobody's child; and it would be the best thing for him if the dear Lord would take him to himself in his heavenly kingdom.” But Frieder had no longing for the heavenly kingdom; it pleased him very well down below here, and he grew up like the red-headed thistles behind his foster-mother's house. Playfellows he had none. When the other boys in the village built mills and sailed their little canoes in the brook, or romped in the hay, Frieder would sit on the hillside and whistle the songs of the birds.
      He was busying himself in this way one day, when old Klaus, who was a bird-catcher by profession, met him. He took a fancy to the pretty lad, and struck a friendship with him. From that time the two were often seen sitting sociably together in front of the bird-catcher's cottage like two old soldiers. Klaus not only could tell strange stories of the forest, but he knew how to play the fiddle, and instructed Frieder in the art, after giving him an old patched-up violin as a birthday present. The pupil did his teacher credit, for before the end of the month he could play several famous old melodies. The old birdcatcher was deeply impressed by this, and said prophetically, “Frieder, believe me; if God spares my life, I shall sometime see you the first violinist in the church.”
      When Frieder was fifteen years old, the neighbors came together and took counsel about him. It was time, they said, that he should learn something practical to help him through the world; and when they asked him what he would like to become, he answered, “A musician.” Then the people threw up their hands in holy horror. But a stout man stepped out of the crowd, grasped the lad's hand, and said in a dignified manner, “I will see if I can make something practical out of him.” And all those who stood about in the circle thought Frieder very fortunate to have found such a master.
      He was a person of no little consequence. He cut the peasants' hair and beards, cupped them, and pulled out their poor teeth, and often their sound ones too. He was the barber of the place, and the people called him nothing less than “Herr Doktor.”
      On the same day Frieder went to the house of him who was now his employer, and in the evening began to make himself useful by bringing his master's beer from the ale-house. By degrees he learned to make the lather, to hone the razors, and to do everything else belonging to the art. His master was pleased with him; but the violin-playing in which Frieder had indulged so eagerly when he had nothing else to do, was objectionable to him, for, in the barber's opinion, it belonged to the unprofitable arts.
      Two long years passed by. Then came the day when Frieder was to put his skill to the test. If he succeeded in satisfying his master, then he could go out into the world as a travelling journeyman and seek his fortune. He was to prove his skill by shaving his master's beard, and that was no joke.
      The important day had come. The barber seated himself in his chair, with the white towel around his neck, and leaned his head back. Frieder soaped his double chin, stropped the razor, and fell to work.
      Suddenly the sounds of violins and flutes were heard in front of the house: a bear-leader had come along. As soon as the young barber heard the music his hand slipped, and on the master's cheek appeared a bloody cut, reaching from his ear to his nose.
      Alas for poor Frieder! The chair in which the barber was sitting fell backwards on the floor. The bleeding man jumped up in a rage and gave his apprentice a rousing box on the ear. Then he tore open the door, pointed into the blue air, and screamed, “Go to the cuckoo!”
      Then Frieder packed up his things, took his violin under his arm, and went to the cuckoo. The cuckoo dwelt in the woods, in an oak-tree, and happened to be at home when Frieder called on him. He heard the fellow's account patiently to the end, but then he flapped his wings, and said:—
      “Young friend, if I should help all who are sent to me, I should have a great deal to do. The times are hard, and I must be glad that I have provided for my own children tolerably well. The oldest I have boarded out in a water-wagtail's family; the second one, neighbor red-tail has taken into his house; the third child, a little maid, is nursed by an old beam-bird; and the two smallest ones are taken care of by a wren. I have to bestir myself from morning till night in order to get enough to live on decently. For fourteen days I have lived on hairy caterpillars, and such food would not suit your digestion. No; I cannot help you, however sorry I may be for you.”
      Then Frieder hung his head sorrowfully, said farewell to the cuckoo, and went away. But he had not gone far when the cuckoo called after him: “Wait, Frieder! I have a good idea. Perhaps I can help you after all. Come with me.” He spoke these words, stretched his wings, and flew along in front of Frieder to show him the way.
      Frieder had difficulty in following his guide, for the underbrush was thick in the woods, and the briers were very abundant. At last it grew light between the trees, and there was a glimpse of water.
      “This is the place,” said the cuckoo, as he lighted on an alder. Before the youth lay a dark-green pond, fed by a foaming waterfall. Reeds and iris grew on the shore, and white waterlilies with broad leaves floated on the surface.
      “Now pay attention,” said the wise bird. “When the sun goes down and makes the spray of the waterfall gleam in seven colors, then Neck comes up from the bottom of the pond where he has a crystal castle, and sits down on the shore. Then have no fear, but speak to him. You will find out the rest.”
      Then Frieder thanked the cuckoo, who flew away swiftly into the woods.
      When the seven colors of the rainbow appeared in the waterfall, sure enough Neck came up out of the water. He had on a little red coat and a white collar. His hair was green, and hung down like a tangled mane over his shoulders. He sat down on a stone, which rose above the mirror-like pond, let his feet hang in the water, and began to comb his hair with his ten fingers. This was a difficult task, for the snarls were full of eel-grass, duckweed, and little snailshells, and as Neck tried to smooth out his hair he made up painful faces.
      “This is the right time to speak to the water-sprite,” thought Frieder. He took courage, stepped out from the alder-bushes, which had kept him from sight, took off his hat, and said, “Good evening, Herr Neck!”
      At the sound of his voice, Neck plumped into the water like a startled frog, and disappeared. But before long he thrust his head out again, and said in an unfriendly voice, “What do you want?”
      “With your permission, Herr Neck,” began Frieder, “I am an experienced barber, and you would confer a great honor upon me if you would allow me to comb your hair.”
      “Indeed!” said Neck, delighted, and he rose out of the water. “You have come at just the right time. What a trouble and torment my hair has been to me since the Loreley, my cousin, was mean enough to leave me! What have I not done for that thankless creature! And one morning she went away, and my golden comb is gone, too, and now she sits, as I hear, on a rock in the Rhine, and is having some trouble with a skipper in a little skiff. The golden comb will soon be sung away.”
      With these words, Neck sat down on a stone. Frieder took out his shaving-case, tied a white apron around the water-sprite's neck, and combed and oiled his hair, till it was as smooth as silk; then he parted his hair evenly from his brow to the nape of his neck, took off the apron, and made a bow, as his master had taught him. Neck stood up and looked at himself with satisfaction in the mirror of the pond. “What do I owe you?” he asked.
      Frieder had the customary answer, “Whatever you please,” on his lips, but it occurred to him just in time that he must seize the opportunity and strike while the iron was hot. So he cleared his throat and told Neck his history.
      “ So you would like to be a musician ? “ asked Neck, when Frieder had finished speaking. “Just take your fiddle in your hand and let me hear something of your skill.”
      Then the youth took his violin, tuned the strings, and played his best piece, “When the Grandfather married the Grandmother,” and when he had ended with a graceful flourish, he looked expectantly at Neck.
      Neck grinned, and said, “Now hear me.” Then he put his hand down into the reeds and brought out a violin and bow, straightened himself up, and began to play.
      Poor Frieder had never heard anything like it before. At first it sounded like the evening breeze playing among the rushes, then it sounded like the roar of a waterfall, and at last, like gently flowing water. The birds in the trees were silent, the bees stopped humming, and the fishes raised their heads out of the pond to listen to the sweet sounds. But great tears shone in the young fellow's eyes.
      “Herr Neck,” he said, stretching out his hands, as the water-sprite laid down his bow, “Herr Neck, teach me how to play!”
      “That would not do,” answered Neck. “It would not do on account of my growing daughters, the pixies. Besides, it isn't necessary. If you will give me your comb, you shall have a violin that hasn't its equal.”
      “I will give you my whole shaving-case, if you want it,” cried Frieder, and handed it to the water-sprite.
      Neck snatched the proffered case quickly, and disappeared beneath the water.
      “Hold on, hold on! “ the youth called after him, but his call was in vain. He waited an hour; he waited two; but nothing more was heard of Neck.
      Poor Frieder sighed deeply, for it was plain to him that the false water-sprite had deceived him, and with a heavy heart he turned to go he knew not where. Then he saw lying at his feet, on the edge of the pond, Neck's fiddlestick. He bent down, and as he took it in his hand, he felt a twitching from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder-blade, and it urged him to try the bow.
      He was going to play “What shall I, poor fellow, do?” but it seemed as if an unseen power guided his hand; sweet, silvery tones burst from his violin, such as Frieder had never heard in his life but once, and that was just before, when Neck was playing to him. The birds came flying along and sat listening in the bushes, the fishes leaped up out of the water, and stags and roebucks came out of the forest, and looked with wise eyes at the player. Frieder could not tell how it happened. Whatever passed through his soul and whatever he felt in his heart, found its way to his hand, and through his hand to his playing, and was expressed in sweet tones.
      But Neck came up out of the pond and nodded approvingly. Then he disappeared and was never seen again.
      Frieder went out of the forest playing, and he visited all the kingdoms of the earth and played before kings and emperors. Yellow gold rained into his hat, and he would have become exceeding rich, if he had not been a true musician. But true musicians never become rich.
      He left his shaving-case behind him. Therefore, he let his hair grow like strong Samson of old. Other musicians have followed his example, and from that time to the present day have worn long, disorderly hair.