: The King Of The Golden River; Or, The Black Brothers
: Types Of Children's Literature

The King of the Golden River had hardly made the extraordinary

exit related in the last chapter before Hans and Schwartz came

roaring into the house very savagely drunk. The discovery of the

total loss of their last piece of plate had the effect of sobering

them just enough to enable them to stand over Gluck, beating him

very steadily for a quarter of an hour; at the expiration of which

period they dropped into a coupl
of chairs, and requested to know

what he had got to say for himself. Gluck told them his story, of

which, of course, they did not believe a word. They beat him again,

till their arms were tired, and staggered to bed. In the morning,

however, the steadiness with which he adhered to his story obtained

him some degree of credence; the immediate consequence of which was

that the two brothers, after wrangling a long time on the knotty

question, Which of them should try his fortune first, drew their

swords and began fighting. The noise of the fray alarmed the

neighbors, who, finding they could not pacify the combatants, sent

for the constable.

Hans, on hearing this, contrived to escape, and hid himself; but

Schwartz was taken before the magistrate, fined for breaking the

peace, and having drunk out his last penny the evening before, was

thrown into prison till he should pay.

When Hans heard this, he was much delighted, and determined

to set out immediately for the Golden River. How to get the holy

water was the question. He went to the priest, but the priest could

not give any holy water to so abandoned a character. So Hans went

to vespers in the evening for the first time in his life, and, under

pretense of crossing himself, stole a cupful and returned home in


Next morning he got up before the sun rose, put the holy water

into a strong flask, and two bottles of wine and some meat in a

basket, slung them over his back, took his alpine staff in his hand,

and set off for the mountains.

On his way out of the town he had to pass the prison, and as he

looked in at the windows, whom should he see but Schwartz himself

peeping out of the bars, and looking very disconsolate.

"Good morning, brother," said Hans; "have you any message

for the King of the Golden River?"

Schwartz gnashed his teeth with rage, and shook the bars with

all his strength; but Hans only laughed at him, and advising him

to make himself comfortable till he came back again, shouldered his

basket, shook the bottle of holy water in Schwartz's face till it

frothed again, and marched off in the highest spirits in the world.

It was indeed a morning that might have made any one happy,

even with no Golden River to seek for. Level lines of dewy mist

lay stretched along the valley, out of which rose the massy mountains

--their lower cliffs in pale gray shadow, hardly distinguishable

from the floating vapor, but gradually ascending till they caught

the sunlight, which ran in sharp touches of ruddy color along the

angular crags, and pierced, in long level rays, through their fringes

of spear-like pine. Far above, shot up red splintered masses of

castellated rock, jagged and shivered into myriads of fantastic forms,

with here and there a streak of sunlit snow, traced down their chasms

like a line of forked lightning; and far beyond and above all these,

fainter than the morning cloud, but purer and changeless, slept in

the blue sky the utmost peaks of the eternal snow.

The Golden River, which sprang from one of the lower and snowless

elevations, was now nearly in shadow; all but the uppermost jets

of spray, which rose like slow smoke above the undulating line of the

cataract, and floated away in feeble wreaths upon the morning wind.

On this object, and on this alone, Hans' eyes and thoughts were

fixed; forgetting the distance he had to traverse, he set off at an

imprudent rate of walking, which greatly exhausted him before he

had scaled the first range of the green and low hills. He was,

moreover, surprised on surmounting them, to find that a large glacier,

of whose existence, notwithstanding his previous knowledge of the

mountains, he had been absolutely ignorant, lay between him and

the source of the Golden River. He mounted it though, with the

boldness of a practiced mountaineer; yet he thought he had never

traversed so strange or so dangerous a glacier in his life. The ice

was excessively slippery, and out of all its chasms came wild sounds

of gushing water; not monotonous or low, but changeful and loud,

rising occasionally into drifting passages of wild melody, then

breaking off into short melancholy tones, or sudden shrieks, resembling

those of human voices in distress or pain. The ice was broken into

thousands of confused shapes, but none, Hans thought, like the ordinary

forms of splintered ice. There seemed a curious _expression_ about

all their outlines--a perpetual resemblance to living features,

distorted and scornful. Myriads of deceitful shadows, and lurid lights,

played and floated about and through the pale blue pinnacles, dazzling

and confusing the sight of the traveler; while his ears grew dull and

his head giddy with the constant gush and roar of the concealed waters.

These painful circumstances increased upon him as he advanced; the ice

crashed and yawned into fresh chasms at his feet, tottering spires

nodded around him, and fell thundering across his path; and though he

had repeatedly faced these dangers on the most terrific glaciers, and

in the wildest weather, it was with a new and oppressive feeling of

panic terror that he leaped the last chasm, and flung himself,

exhausted and shuddering, on the firm turf of the mountain.

He had been compelled to abandon his basket of food, which

became a perilous incumbrance on the glacier, and had now no

means of refreshing himself but by breaking off and eating some of

the pieces of ice. This, however, relieved his thirst; an hour's

repose recruited his hardy frame, and with the indomitable spirit of

avarice, he resumed his laborious journey.

His way now lay straight up a ridge of bare red rocks, without

a blade of grass to ease the foot, or a projecting angle to afford

an inch of shade from the south sun. It was past noon, and the

rays beat intensely upon the steep path, while the whole atmosphere

was motionless, and penetrated with heat. Intense thirst was soon

added to the bodily fatigue with which Hans was now afflicted; glance

after glance he cast at the flask of water which hung at his belt.

"Three drops are enough," at last thought he; "I may, at least,

cool my lips with it."

He opened the flask, and was raising it to his lips, when his eye

fell on an object lying on the rock beside him; he thought it moved.

It was a small dog, apparently in the last agony of death from thirst.

Its tongue was out, its jaws dry, its limbs extended lifelessly, and

a swarm of black ants were crawling about its lips and throat. Its eye

moved to the bottle which Hans held in his hand. He raised it,

drank, spurned the animal with his foot, and passed on. And he

did not know how it was, but he thought that a strange shadow had

suddenly come across the blue sky.

The path became steeper and more rugged every moment; and the

high hill air, instead of refreshing him, seemed to throw his blood

into a fever. The noise of the hill cataracts sounded like mockery

in his ears; they were all distant, and his thirst increased every

moment. Another hour passed, and he again looked down to the

flask at his side; it was half empty, but there was much more than

three drops in it. He stopped to open it, and again, as he did so,

something moved in the path above him. It was a fair child,

stretched nearly lifeless on the rock, its breast heaving with thirst,

its eyes closed, and its lips parched and burning. Hans eyed it

deliberately, drank, and passed on. And a dark gray cloud came

over the sun, and long, snake-like shadows crept up along the mountain

sides. Hans struggled on. The sun was sinking, but its descent

seemed to bring no coolness; the leaden weight of the dead air

pressed upon his brow and heart, but the goal was near. He saw

the cataract of the Golden River springing from the hillside, scarcely

five hundred feet above him. He paused for a moment to breathe,

and sprang on to complete his task.

At this instant a faint cry fell on his ear. He turned, and saw a

gray-haired old man extended on the rocks. His eyes were sunk,

his features deadly pale, and gathered into an expression of despair.

"Water!" he stretched his arms to Hans, and cried feebly, "Water!

I am dying."

"I have none," replied Hans; "thou hast had thy share of life."

He strode over the prostrate body, and darted on. And a flash of

blue lightning rose out of the east, shaped like a sword; it shook

thrice over the whole heaven, and left it dark with one heavy,

impenetrable shade. The sun was setting; it plunged towards the

horizon like a red-hot ball.

The roar of the Golden River rose on Hans' ear. He stood at the

brink of the chasm through which it ran. Its waves were filled with

the red glory of the sunset; they shook their crests like tongues

of fire, and flashes of bloody light gleamed along their foam. Their

sound came mightier and mightier on his senses; his brain grew

giddy with the prolonged thunder. Shuddering, he drew the flask

from his girdle, and hurled it into the center of the torrent. As he

did so, an icy chill shot through his limbs; he staggered, shrieked,

and fell. The waters closed over his cry. And the moaning of

the river rose wildly into the night, as it gushed over THE BLACK