THE DISAPPOINTED DWARF

      WHERE the mountains, even in summer, wear caps of snow, where the hare in winter puts on a white coat, and the crows have yellow bills, there grows a beautiful tree called the Siberian pine, and out of its wood the people on the mountains carve animals, both wild and domestic, and sell them to the city people for hard cash.
      Such a tree, and assuredly a primeval one, stood, and probably still stands to-day, on a lonely slope, where, in summer, thousands and thousands of Alpine roses bloom. From its branches hung long, gray beards of moss, and its mighty roots grasped weather beaten boulders, between which the narrow entrance to a cave could be seen. The cave was inhabited, too, but it was neither a badger nor a bear that dwelt there, but a gnome, a timid dwarf.
      He had seen better days. In the good old times, which even mountain spirits look back to with regret, he wore a golden crown, and the name of Laurin, the king of the dwarfs, was known in Germany and in Italy. The whole range of mountains, with their underground marvels, was his, and in the upper world he had laid out a pleasure garden for his enjoyment, where the most glorious roses shed their perfume, and from the roses hung little golden bells, which rang sweetly in the wind. But his underground treasures and his beautiful garden did not satisfy the dwarf. He yearned for a woman's love, and, violent as he was, he stole away the beautiful Similde von Steier, to make her queen of the dwarfs; and that was his ruin.
      Mourning and weeping sat the stolen beauty in the magic castle of the mountain, and all the jewels which the dwarf laid at her feet could not turn her thoughts. But it grew still worse. One day when King Laurin visited his pleasure garden, there arose from the crushed roses the huge forms of giants in armor, and Dietleib, poor Similde's betrothed, and his master, the mighty Dietrich of Berne, fell upon him with their swords till he lost sight and hearing. They set free the stolen Similde and took the dwarf away with them prisoner, and compelled him to serve as jester at the court of Lombardy for the amusement of his captors. All this happened many hundred years ago, and stands written in detail in an ancient book. Later, when everything was topsy-turvy in Italy, Laurin was released, and ever after he dwelt in the wilderness, a solitary, embittered, mountain dwarf.
      Usually, whenever he slipped out of his cavern, and sat sunning himself under the Siberian pinetree, he wore his magic cap which made him invisible, but sometimes he took it off, and thus it happened that the people on the mountain knew him very well. Shepherds, root-diggers, huntsmen, and other honest people had often seen him, as he sat on the mountain-side, and gazed listlessly into the blue distance. He appeared there like a little man about an ell high, with wrinkled face and long, gray beard, and because he generally stayed under the pine-tree, the people, who knew nothing of his splendid past, called him “Zirbel.”
      People tell of kindly gnomes who make presents to poor people of fir cones or the branches of trees, which afterwards change to gold. The sullen Zirbel did nothing of that sort, but, on the other hand, he never played tricks on anybody, but let the people who passed to and fro in his wilderness go their way unmolested. And thus many years passed by.
      One day Zirbel was lying, as he often did, under his tree, sunning himself in the morning sunlight, and gazing up at the circle of white, snow-covered mountains, and the gold cloud-boats gliding along slowly in the sky.
      Two mortals came climbing up the mountain, and the dwarf quickly put on his magic cap. It was an old peasant with a young, rosy-cheeked maiden,— father and daughter. Both were heavily laden, but they walked easily up the mountain under their burdens.
      Above the old pine-tree, where there is a hollow place in the mountain, the old man stopped and said, “Lisi, we will stay here”; and then he began to fashion a house. He piled up stones, and out of branches and large pieces of bark, which he broke off from the fallen, decaying trunks, he built a hut, large enough to shelter a man from wind and rain. In the mean while the maiden was not idle, but filled a basket with flowers; these she thought of selling in the Blue Steinboc down below.
      The Blue Steinboc — this was the name of an Alpine inn, which stood about three miles distant from the pine-tree — was full of summer visitors, who were enjoying the mountain air and water, caught trout, and feasted on venison which was really only mutton. They wore jaunty feathers in their hats, and gave many bright silver pieces for edelweiss and little twigs of the sweet-scented rue. The flowers they put in their red pocket-books, and afterwards, at home, told of the dangers they experienced in gathering them.
      The dwarf regarded the beautiful maiden with satisfaction, and for the first time in many years a friendly grin passed over his face.
      When the sun reached the zenith the old man had finished his work. He called the maiden, and they two ate the dinner she had brought with her. Then the beautiful girl departed and went with her basket down into the valley, while her father stayed behind and went about his work. He was a pitch-burner by trade, and had built his hut on the mountain in order to gather the pitch oozing from the evergreen trees.
      The next day the fair-haired Lisi came back again to bring food to her father and to gather flowers. But Zirbel had stirred the earth-fires during the night; thousands and thousands of flowers had sprung up, and now stars and bells fresh with dew adorned the green pasture in such abundance that the maiden was able to reap a rich harvest. The dwarf followed closely on her footsteps, unseen, and took delight in her diligence, often coming so near her that he might have brushed her flaxen hair with his hand; but this he did not do lest he should frighten the charming child. When Lisi went away again, he stood on a rock a long time, looking after her; then he crept contented into his crevice and waited with delight for the next morning.
      The morning came and the lovely Lisi came too; but with her came another, a dark lad in hunting-dress; and when Zirbel saw him, he made up a face as though he had bitten a green crabapple.
      The young huntsman had his arm around the lovely girl's waist, and in this way they came up to the old man, who was sitting before his hut, and the old man seemed to approve of their familiarity, for when they kissed each other he laughed; but everything turned green and yellow before the dwarf's eyes. Then the young people sat down on the trunk of a tree and sang songs of true love, and the father hummed softly with them, and then they began to bill and coo again like two pigeons.
      These were terrible hours for poor Zirbel, and he would have liked to come between the pair with thunder and lightning, but he restrained himself. At last the lovers took their departure and went away together, while the father stood on the mountain-side and gazed after them.
      Then suddenly there stood before him, as though sprung up out of the ground, Zirbel, the dwarf. The old man was indeed frightened, but he collected himself, and took off his hat with a bow and a scrape.
      “Do you know me?” asked the dwarf.
      “You are none other than Herr Zirbel,” replied the pitch-burner. “Pardon me if I do not call you by your right name.”
      “Zirbel; yes; that is what they call me. And what is your name?”
      “Peter.”
      “Well, Master Peter, you have a beautiful daughter—”
      “Have you seen her?” interrupted the father with delight. “Beautiful she is, and good she is, too; but,” he continued with a sigh, “poor,— poorer than a church mouse;. and her lover, the huntsman, has nothing but his strong limbs. — O Herr Zirbel! Don't you know some buried treasure or a gold mine or something else? That would be very convenient for the dowry.”
      The dwarf nodded his head emphatically. “Come with me, Master Peter, if you are not afraid; I will show you something that will make your mouth water.”
      Peter did not have to be asked a second time. He threw his bag over his shoulder, and with joyful expectation followed Zirbel, who went on ahead.
      At the foot of the old tree the dwarf stopped. “The way is in through there,” he said, pointing to the entrance of the cavern. “Come after me, Master Peter!” Having said this he slipped like a marmot into the den, and the pitch-burner crept in behind him. At first the entrance was very narrow, and Peter gave his head a hard bump twice; but soon the hole grew wider, and after a short time they reached a high, roomy cave, and it was light here, too, for blue flames flickered on every side.
      “Now just look about you!” commanded the dwarf; and the old man did as he was told, but it was some time before his eyes became accustomed to the glittering splendor. A network of threads of gold covered the walls, and from the ceiling hung points of silver, wonderfully formed, like stalactites. On the floor of the cave stood a large copper kettle, filled to the brim with heavy pieces of silver. Oh, how Peter opened his eyes at this!
      But the dwarf began to speak, saying, “All the treasures that you see hoarded here shall be your daughter's wedding portion — on one condition.”
      “Let me hear it, Herr Zirbel!” cried the father, wild with delight.
      “Your daughter,” said the dwarf impressively, “must give up the huntsman and—”
      “Herr Zirbel, that cannot be.”
      “It must be. I will give the huntsman as much silver as he can carry to compensate him, — such a young fellow will easily console himself with another pretty girl,— and I will provide another husband for your daughter. To be plain, Master Peter, I myself will be your son-in-law. Have you any objection to that?”
      The pitch-burner was greatly frightened, but he composed himself; with rich men and gnomes it is not well to quarrel. “Herr Zirbel,” he said, “I, for my part, have nothing against you; you are a man in the prime of life, and are able to take care of a wife; but — maidens see with different eyes from old graybeards. Do you understand me?”
      But Zirbel went on talking to the old man, and at the same time scooped up silver pieces out of the kettle, letting them fall back again like rain, till poor Peter's head was all in a whirl. Suddenly a bright thought came to him. He appeared as if he were going to give his consent, and said artfully:
      “Well, Herr Zirbel, I will take you to my daughter. You shall see her at home, at her work and then, if you still wish to make her your wife, I will, as her father, say 'yes and amen,' and bring the maiden to you whenever you please. For the huntsman you must give me as much silver as I can carry away on my back. But if you, of your own free will, back out of the undertaking, then the money shall be mine. Here is my bag — if you are agreed allow me to fill it immediately with your silver.'
      Zirbel was highly delighted with this proposition. He shoved the silver pieces into the bag with his own hands, and on the top he laid, sparkling bracelet as a bridal gift. Then they crept out into the daylight again, and Peter shouldered the precious burden. The dwarf took his future father-in-law by the arm and walked along beside him.
      After they had been gone a good half hour, they came into the vicinity of the summer resort, the Blue Steinboc. They passed guide-posts and rustic seats bearing such names as Elsa's Rest, Olga's Seat, Adele's Hill, and other inscriptions, and suddenly they saw the bright garments of a woman gleaming through the trees.
      “I will make myself invisible,” said Zirbel, putting on his magic cap. Then both stepped nearer.
      The woman's back was turned towards the wanderers. She was sitting on a camp-stool, and had a frame before her, such as Zirbel had never seen before. With curiosity he approached the lady with his companion, and looked at what she was doing. On a frame stood a tablet, which she had painted over, green on the lower part, and blue on the upper part; in the background was something like a white nightcap; in the foreground a rose-colored beast with horns and a bell at the neck.
      “What is she doing?” asked Zirbel.
      “She is painting,” replied Peter. “She paints the mountains, the trees, animals, and people. Just look at it closely, Herr Zirbel. That white thing is the mountain yonder with its snow, and the red beast is a cow.”
      Zirbel examined the painting, and shook his big head thoughtfully; then he said:—
      “Master Peter, tell me, pray, Does Lisi too paint pictures gay?”
      And Peter replied:—
      “Pictures all the day paints she, Greener far than celery.”
      Then the dwarf muttered something in his beard that Peter did not understand, and drew his companion away with him.
      It was not long before they met a second lady; she was sitting on a moss-covered rock, and gazing with glassy eyes up at the blue sky. In her left hand she had a book, on which was written in golden letters, “Poetry,” and in her right hand she held a pencil, with which she occasionally wrote something in the book. After a while she arose and read in a loud voice:—
      “Ah, if I were a birdling free, Ah, if I soared on tiny wing, Beloved, in my bill I'd bring A sweet forget-me-not to thee.”
      “What is the poor thing trying to do?” asked the dwarf compassionately.
      “She is making poetry,” explained Peter. “She is a poetess; that is, she makes rhymes, writes them in her book, and reads them aloud.”
      Then Zirbel whispered anxiously:—
      “Master Peter, truly tell, Does lovely Lisi rhyme as well?”
      And Peter replied:—
      “When she is tired of painting, 'tis true She scribbles rhymes and reads them too.”
      “Oh dear!” said Zirbel, with a deep sigh. “Come, let us go along.” And they went on.
      The sun went down to the edge of the mountains, the birds stopped singing, and through the forest sounded the bells of the home-returning cattle. Through the fir-trees appeared the shingled roof of the Blue Steinboc, and from all sides the hungry guests were hurrying towards the hospitable abode. All of a sudden, as Peter and his invisible companion came within a few steps of the house, there sounded through the evening stillness such a clangorous jangling and drumming that Zirbel started in affright.
      “Don't be afraid,” said the old man, assuringly. “If you get up on the stone seat and look in at the window, you will see where the noise comes from.”
      The dwarf got up on the bench, and looked into the lighted hall. “I see two women,” he said softly, “who are pounding around with their hands on a chest. Oh, it is horrible to see, and still more horrible to hear! Tell me, Peter, what it means.”
      “What does it mean?” replied the pitchburner. “They are playing the piano-forte, as it is called.”
      Then said Zirbel, in a trembling voice:—
      “Master Peter, tell me in short, Does Lisi play the piano-forte?”
      And Peter answered:
      “If she can't paint or rhyme, she'll play On her piano the livelong day.”
      The dwarf groaned like a falling tree, and became silent.
      “Herr Zirbel,” suggested Peter after a while, in a suppressed voice, “Herr Zirbel, we ought to be going.”
      No answer.
      The old man felt about in the place where the voice of the invisible dwarf had last come from, but his hand only grasped the air.
      He called louder, “Herr Zirbel, where are you? It will soon be night, and we have still far to go.”
      Then there came a gust of wind from the mountain, and these words fell on Peter's ear:—
      “Master Peter, the bag is thine, But you may keep your daughter fine.”
      The crafty Peter would have leaped for joy, if the heavy bag of silver had not prevented him. He waved his hat gratefully in the direction from which the words had sounded, then he started along, and hurried as fast as he could towards the valley.
      The story is ended, for you can easily imagine what happened further. The beautiful Lisi kept her huntsman, and if they are not dead—
      But the dwarf Zirbel was unmarried, and remained so to his dying day.