HOW MR. HANS SET OFF ON AN EXPEDITION TO THE GOLDEN RIVER
: 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