Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine Vol. 56, No. 346, August, 1844 by Various

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VII.

Oh! never shall we know again a heart so stout and true--
The olden times have pass'd away, and weary are the new:
The fair White Rose has faded from the garden where it grew,
And no fond tears but those of heaven the glorious bed bedew
Of the last old Scottish cavalier, all of the olden time!

W.E.A.

TRADITIONS AND TALES OF UPPER LUSATIA.

No. III.

THE DWARF'S WELL.

We have been shown, in our two preceding pieces from Ernst Willkomm,
Pathetic Fairies, and Fairies merry to rioting. Here we have, not
without merriment either, Working Fairies. In the mines of the Upper
Lusatian Belief, the tale of THE DWARF'S WELL strikes into a vein which
our author has promised us, but of which we have not heretofore handled
the ore. Here we shall see the imagination touching in some deeper
sterner colours to the sketches flung forth by the fancy; and in the
spirit of unreal creation, a wild self-will which rejoices to waft into
the presence of the beautiful, and of unbridled laughter, cold blasts
from the region of pure affright. There is in this, however, no
prostration of strength--quite the reverse! Not a nervous and enfeebled
sensibility, yielding itself up to a diseased taste for pain.--No child
fascinated with fear, and straining its eyes to take in more horror. But
here the unconquerable consciousness of strong life throws itself with
an unmastered glee of battle, right into the thick of its mortal
adversaries, to slay, and strip, and bind to its own triumphant
chariot-wheels.

The Upper Lusatian Highlander, turned poet, dreaming at his discretion,
amuses himself with converting terror and madness into merriment, and
reconciles conflicting elements of invention--with an overpowering
harmony?--No. But, by subjugating them all alike to one imperious lord,
viz. to himself;--to his own pleasure. Hence, in the Traditions and
Tales, in which he embodies his illusory creed of the Invisible, there
is engendered an esthetical species, which waits, perhaps, for a name
with us, and might accept that of the _Ghastly_, or at least, of the
_Ghostly-Humorous_, the _Gay-Horrible_. The story of the PRIEST'S WELL
soars boldly upon this pinion; that of the WILL-O'-THE-WISP HUSSAR has
gone stark-raving in the same grimly-mirthful temper. The mind in which
Burns imagined and chaunted his TAM-O'-SHANTER, is right down Upper
Lusatian, in this key. Our Elves, however, are not yet witches.

The kinds of the spirits confine, upon every side, with one another, and
the boundary lines vanish. Within the circumscription of the Fairy
domain, an indeterminable difference appears betwixt the truest Fairies
and the Dwarfs. The two sorts, or the two names, are sometimes brought
into glaring opposition. Again, like factions made friends, they blend
for a time indistinguishably. So, in the Persian belief, the ugly
_Dios_, who may represent the Dwarfs of our west, are--under one aspect
of the Fable--the implacable _cannibal_ foes--under another,--the loving
spouses of the beautiful Peris. Comparing the Fairies of our two former
tales, and the Dwarfs of this, the reader will probably see in THOSE,
the daintier, the more delicate: in THESE, a little more hardness of
nature.

The great length of the story precludes all thoughts (be the
opportunities what they may, and these are not deficient) of bringing
its illustration from other expositors--Teutonic or otherwise-of the
Fairy Lore.

THE DWARF'S WELL.

"Nicholas Stringstriker was the most popular ale-house fiddler for a
good twenty miles round, and consequently quite indispensable at all
christenings, marriages, and wakes. Klaus knew this as well as every
body else, and, like a wise man, did the best he could to turn his
popularity to account--the more so, poor fellow! because he was obliged
to put up with all kinds of ridicule and teasing. Stringstriker, you
must know, was a most comical little fellow, with very small thin bandy
legs, that had to bear the burden of a huge square trunk, which, in its
turn, supported a big head that was for ever waggling to and fro,
without affording the slightest indication of a neck. The entire little
man measured exactly three feet five inches and an eighth, and he was
best known to his acquaintance by the name of _Dwarf-fiddler_ or
_Dwarf-piper_; for the little gentleman smoked away for his life, and
liked nothing better.

"So misshapen a figure, it may readily be supposed, made a very good
target for the shafts of mockery. Nicholas, however, troubled himself
but little about them; and it was small complaint you heard from him so
long as he was well paid, got his savoury morsel, and, above all, a
liberal supply of his choice favourite--_Tobacco_. True, folks might now
and then, as the saying is, _draw the cord too tight_ and be too hard
upon the scraper; and then Klaus, like most deformed creatures, had wit
and venom enough at his command, and could rid himself right easily of
his tormentors.

"The Dwarf--it might be to render himself thoroughly independent, or,
more likely still, to surround his diminutive individuality with an air
of mystery--had abandoned his birth-place, and established himself about
two miles away from it, near a singularly-formed sandstone rock,
situated in a small but exceedingly pretty fir-wood, and commonly known
by the name of the Bear's church. Here he spent his quiet life, wholly
engaged in the practice of his art. Travellers taking their road by
night, and in calm weather, from _Bertsdorf_ to _Hoernitz_ or over the
Breitenberg to _Gross-schoenau_ were arrested by the exquisite strains,
now touchingly plaintive, now joyously merry, that poured from Klaus's
magical instrument; and many a happy soul, allured by the enchanting
melody, lingered within sound of it, until wholly subdued and rendered
powerless by awe and superstitious fear. Although by day the fiddler was
visible to none, yet by night he was often seen waddling out of the wood
and over the fields, on his way to a clear spring, whence he drew water
for his housekeeping, which--to add to the mystery that he delighted to
create--he doggedly looked after himself. This spring belonged to a
substantial farmer in Bertsdorf, named _Michael Simon_, though called by
the people _Twirling-stick Mike_, in commemoration of his cutting down
yearly in his wood a handsome quantity of young trees, which he
afterwards manufactured into twirling-sticks. Simon not only was master
of a good farm, but proprietor likewise of the village tavern, in which
he gave a dance every Sunday, taking care to secure for the festivity
the services of Stringstriker, to whose fiddle, it was well known, the
lads and lasses invariably danced an hour longer than to that of any
other scraper in the country.

"The visits of Stringstriker to the well were a continual vexation to
the farmer. The Dwarf asked no man's permission to draw his water, but
helped himself as often and as liberally as he thought proper, without
the slightest regard to the wants of other people, which were often left
unsatisfied by his wantonness and extravagance. It was in consequence of
this audacious appropriation, that the spring by degrees acquired the
name of THE DWARF'S WELL. Countless were the complaints and menaces of
Mike--numberless the promised threshings, if he did not give up his
thieving; but the effect of them all upon Klaus was to make him laugh
outright, fill his pipe, and strike up a jolly tune upon his fiddle.

"Now it happened that Twirling-stick Mike held a christening, and he not
only asked the Dwarf as a guest to the feast, but actually went so far
as to invite the creature to stand godfather to his child. Klaus was
mightily pleased with the honour, and behaved like a gentleman on the
occasion. He made his godson a handsome present, and promised to do a
good deal more for him, stipulating only that the child, being a boy,
should be named Nicholas after himself.

"There was a merry party at the christening, and at first matters went
on smoothly and comfortably enough; but as the eating, and drinking, and
dancing advanced, quips and cranks became very plentiful, and the
greater number, as might be expected, were flung, and not very lightly,
at the head of poor Stringstriker. The fiddler for a time received his
cuffs very manfully--but they grew intolerable at last. First, his legs
were criticised--then his lank withered arms; even his fiddling was
disparaged, and he himself pronounced highly indecorous, because he
persisted in smoking his pipe all the while he scraped.

"'Klaus, Klaus!' said the master of the house, his sides shaking with
laughter, 'if you don't forswear smoking this very instant, your
sponsorship sha'n't stand. As sure as my name is Twirling-stick Mike, I
won't allow it; and the boy shall be called Michael after his father.'

"Klaus laughed too, went on smoking, and tuned his fiddle.

"'Did you hear what I said, you bandy-legged Dwarf-piper?' bawled Simon,
in continuation.

"Klaus laid his fiddle aside.

"'Gossip!' said he, in a tone of meaning, 'keep within bounds--within
bounds, I say--and don't force me for once to fiddle to an ugly tune. I
am your boy's godfather; his name is Klaus, and Klaus he shall be called
amongst my children!'

"The whole company simultaneously broke out into loud laughter, and
exclaimed with one voice--

"'Amongst his children!'

"'Why, where have you left your respectable better-half, then?' asked
Simon, 'and what wench ever gave herself up to two such noble shanks?
Where, in Heaven's name, Klaus, was the parson ordained that trusted a
poor woman to you for better or worse?'

"The Dwarf smoked away, and could hardly be seen through the cloud that
enveloped him.

"'Idiots!' he murmured to himself, 'as if we lived like mere human
Creatures'--

"'What's that you say?' asked Simon, interrupting him. 'Don't talk
blasphemy, you heathenish imp, or'--

"'Be quiet, gossip!' returned the Dwarf, with a savage frown. 'Don't put
me up, or I and my children may be troublesome to you and yours yet. You
had better give me some more tobacco, for I love smoking, and so do my
people!'

"'If he isn't cracked, I am a Turk!' exclaimed Simon. 'Pride has turned
that added head of his quite round. Well, Heaven preserve me from a
cracked godfather, any how!'

"'Body of me!' interposed an old boor, one of the party, 'what the crab
says is true.'

"'True!' said Simon.

"'Yes! What, have you never heard of the Spirits and Dwarfs who, for
thousands of years, have carried on their precious games in all kinds of
underground pits and holes? Now, take my word for it, he has something
to do with them. Klaus is just the fellow for the rogues. They make
choice of a king once every fifty years--one of flesh and blood, like
ourselves. His majesty must be shaped like a dwarf--that's quite
necessary; but when he is lifted to the throne, the creatures heap upon
him all sorts of wondrous gifts. They teach him to play the fiddle,
flute, and clarinet like an angel. They put him up to the art of
manufacturing wonderful clocks--of eclipsing the sun and moon, and all
that kind of thing. They once had a dwarf king, a shoemaker, and that
fellow never had his equal. Whenever he took it into his head, he would
sit down, call for seventy thousand skins, and then set to work. How
long do you suppose he was getting them out of hand? Why, in just one
hour and a half the whole stock was manufactured. Shoes, gaiters,
spatterdashes, jack-boots and bluchers for five hundred thousand men,
and all their wives and children. You may believe it. There never was a
chap that flung the things about as he did. And you may take my word for
it, Klaus Stringstriker could do something too, if he chose. Why do you
think he is so insolent and conceited, and presumes so much upon his
playing and smoking? Why--just because these little earthmen are his
familiars, and back him up in every thing!'

"'Oh, that's it--is it?' said Simon dryly. 'Klaus is King of the Dwarfs,
is he? Then if that's the case, he shall perform a trick for us
directly. Now I give you all warning, young and old, not to stop his
pipe, or fill his glass again, till he fiddles himself into a fit, and
glass and pipe replenish themselves!'

"Klaus remonstrated against the proceeding--but the guests were brimful
of fun and mischief, and wouldn't listen to him. It was evident that
nothing would satisfy the company but the exhibition of the misery to
which they resolved to subject the unhappy knave forthwith. The Dwarf
implored, threatened, cursed; he struck about him like a madman,
screamed, roared, and struggled to escape; all in vain. The untractable
little fellow was held fast, and then, amidst the jokes and gibes of the
assembly, securely tied, with his fiddle in his hand, against the
roof-tree of the room. Once pinned, there was no use in further
resistance. The poor deformed creature had nothing better to do than to
play, as commanded.

"And he did play, so touchingly and heartbreakingly, that the listeners
were very soon in agonies before him. The eyes of the Dwarf rolled like
little fire-balls in their cells--his cheeks grew paler and paler, and
cold sweat poured down in a stream from his forehead. Nevertheless, he
fiddled away incessantly--now merrily, now mournfully, now slowly, now
quicker than ever. Every dancer had reason that night to thank his
stars, if he left off without having thrown himself into a phthisic;
for, when he once began, it was as easy for him to fly into the air as
to come to a stand-still, until it pleased Klaus Stringstriker to make a
pause with his fiddle.

"The horrible jest lasted till towards midnight, and then the tormentors
were willing to grant their victim some indulgence. The fiddler was
unbound, and he would have had to eat and drink, and his own dear pipe
of tobacco would have been restored to him, had not the company
immediately perceived to their astonishment that both his pipe and glass
stood already filled before him, although not a single soul amongst them
had lifted or touched either one or the other. If the guests had been
riotous before, they were hushed and quiet enough now. And Klaus, too,
struck up another tune _instanter_. He bowed ironically to the assembly,
emptied his glass, lit his pipe, and tucked his fiddle under his arm.

"'Thank you, gossip!' said he, 'thank you kindly for your christening. I
have enjoyed every thing--thoroughly; your compliments, your beer, your
tobacco, and your sport! Rest assured, Mike, I shall quit scores with
you, in good time, for all. As to my little godchild, you'll be pleased
to call the boy Nicholas, that is to say, if you are not tired of your
life. For yourself, Twirling-stick Mike,' he continued with a frown,
'depend upon it, you shall be settled, all in good time, very
comfortably amongst my children. Meanwhile, Fare-you-well!'

"And with these words, the little fellow, repeating his scornful
obeisance, hobbled away. He was heard to strike up a lively air, and
some of the guests, whose curiosity took them out of doors, averred that
he cut across the fields with supernatural swiftness, whilst there
glittered around him a bright tremulous light, in which at times the
tiniest phantoms were distinguishable.

"Whether this statement were really true, or whether a mere imagination,
came never to be rightly known; and it is most likely that nothing more
would have been said about it, if, on the following morning, the report
had not run like a fire through the village, that the Dwarf-piper, in
the night, had come to an untimely end, and was then lying as dead as
mutton on Twirling-stick Mike's farm and field, with his fiddle jammed
under his broad chin, and the bow still resting on the strings. Half the
village, headed by the authorities, sallied forth upon the intelligence.
Simon, you may be certain, was not long in following--and sure enough,
there lay the poor Dwarf, dead upon the ground. His head was half
immersed in the Dwarf's Well, which, in the dark, he had probably not
observed. But whether or not, Klaus Stringstriker had been upset, and
had stumbled, poor wretch, upon his death!

"It was very natural for Twirling-stick Mike to repent him suddenly of
his wanton cruelty. The scoffing words of the dwarf rang in his ears,
and he felt by no means easy. To make what amends he might to the
deceased, he had him sumptuously buried at his own expense, with funeral
oration, psalms, prayer, and benediction; and what is more, put up a
very pretty monument to his memory, which, in very legible characters,
made known the talents and virtues of the fiddler, and carried them down
to remote posterity. The Dwarf, however, was scarcely in his grave,
before all manner of strange reports were whispered about in the
neighbourhood. In the first place, Twirling-stick Mike's garden was said
to be haunted o' nights. Noises were heard and lights seen on the path
crossing his fields; and you had only to stray into the vicinity of the
Dwarf's Well to be forsaken at once of seeing and hearing. If Simon
enquired more particularly into these worrying rumours, every body
professed to know nothing at all of the matter. One man referred him to
his neighbour, and he to the next; who, in his turn, protested that the
whole was a heap of lies; or said any thing that seemed most likely to
appease the farmer's anxious state of mind. Simon, troubled as he was by
the absurd babbling of the people, was nevertheless unable to suppress
it, or prevent its growth. Indeed there was a small chance of its
diminishing, when, in less than two months, there was not a soul in the
neighbourhood who could not swear that he had been a witness to most
unearthly doings. There was no need of further mystery, of doubtful
head-shaking, and ominous whispers--every one had seen Klaus
Stringstriker near Twirling-stick Mike's house, playing his fiddle in
the clear light of the moon. It was true, none could aver that he had
heard a single note; but it was impossible to mistake his figure, and
that had been seen, time after time, gliding in from the adjoining
field, making the tour of Simon's house, and exhibiting all the
gesticulations of a violin-player. Many affirmed, too, that the fiddler
was followed by a swarm of fluttering lights causing an odd noise, like
nothing so much as the multitudinous clacking of little hammers. If the
Dwarf and his luminous retinue encountered any one, he stood still until
the latter had passed, and then quietly pursued his road. The more
inquisitive who had ventured to steal after the apparition, swore deep
and high that the Dwarf and his lights had gone hissing into the well
that stood upon Twirling-stick Mike's land, and then the ghostly
procession altogether ceased.

"Simon gave himself a deal of trouble to witness some of these
remarkable things; but he met with nothing; and accordingly, seeing that
the ghost of the dead sponsor in no way molested him, he permitted the
people to chatter on as they would. His indifference, indeed, had nearly
reduced all disagreeable rumours to silence, when another very sensible
unpleasantness took rise under his own roof.

"Young Klaus could hardly run alone before he manifested a most
undesirable faculty of seeing spirits. It grew with his years; and at
last it came to pass that no day or night went by upon which he had not
something very extraordinary to relate. The occurrences certainly were
chiefly of that nature that it required a most resolute and unbounded--
an absolute Christianly-simple faith to believe them: and since the
majority of Klaus's auditors were not excessively that way disposed, the
accounts of the boy were held for so much downright swagger; and the
poor ghost-seer acquired, to the no small vexation of his parent, the
unenviable nickname of _Mike's Lying Klaus_. It was very singular,
however, and could not fail to be remarked by every reflecting mind,
that all the stories related by young Nicholas were in close connexion
with the notorious well belonging to his father. There it was that he
saw prodigious flames blazing forth, gold burning, and dances performed
by the most grotesque and strangely-shaped little creatures. Passing
this spot, earth, sand, glass, and even silver-pieces, would strike him
on the head, without doing him the slightest injury. If he led his
waggon by the spring, his good horses had to strain and torture
themselves for a full quarter of an hour before they could draw the
empty wain from the spot. The wheels seemed to have been locked and set
fast, and yet the slightest hindrance could not be detected.

"Even to these incidents the ageing Simon had, by degrees, accustomed
himself; but at length, and all on a sudden, it became his own frightful
lot to perceive that his fine property was diminishing--yes, daily and
hourly dropping and dropping away from him. He lived economically, as he
had always done, even to parsimoniousness. The produce of his land, the
income from his twirling-stick trade, were as satisfactory as could be--
both improving! How could it happen then? Simon made known his misery to
his neighbours, craved counsel from his pastor. Each chucked in his
farthing's worth of wisdom; but it availed him nothing. In the
meanwhile, the strapping youth grew every day more and more a
ghost-seer; and the Dwarf was said to beset the premises of the farmer
nightly. Simon, at all events to show a reason in his complaints,
building upon these facts, boldly cast upon his son the imputation of
robbing him. Violent scenes ensued between the two--they quarrelled and
wrangled from morning till night; and at length, upon Simon's refusing
his assent to the marriage of his hulking boy with a very honest, but at
the same time somewhat uncouth and very poor girl--went bodily to law.

"Whilst father and son were valiantly tugging against each other in
court, the lawyers gleefully rubbing their hands over the case, and many
a good joint flying into their larders from the stalls of Twirling-stick
Mike, the substance of the honest farmer underwent rapid decay. His
neighbours, soon aware that Simon had falsely taxed his son, cleared up
the question, as folks in such cases are fain to do, with suppositions
and surmises. They gave out that the Dwarfs were gnawing away his
fortune; every body believed it, and from that moment forward, he was a
marked and doomed man.

"As the belief became general, Simon grew irritable and wild. He cursed,
and stormed, and raved, till his people trembled for their master's
reason. Vexation ate his flesh away, and Avarice, which had gained
entire possession of His soul, drove him restlessly about in the
endeavour to save and to secure as much as still remained to him. At
night, with his sullenly-burning lamp, he sped from room to room,
bearing in his two quivering hands leathern purses of money; then
shutting himself up in the most secret of his hiding-places, he counted
his dollars again and again--and with such haste and fear, that the cold
sweat dropped from him as he laboured. Horrible to relate, as often as
he added the same sums together, so often he found the total less. Oh,
it was like nothing else than the devil's own game; for the money,
unperceived by mortal eye, melted in the pure air!

"Unfortunately for Simon, he was a man of violent passions, and on one
occasion his fury betrayed him into blasphemous exclamations. Sadly
beside himself, he swore, with a most fearful oath, that he was ready
and willing to make over body and soul to the devil, or even to his old
gossip the fiddler, provided either of them would undertake to restore
to him the mass of wealth that had so unaccountably escaped from him.

"There is an old proverb that runs--_'Give the devil your little finger,
and he will take your whole hand.'_ And the truth of this saying Simon
was now about to experience; for he had scarcely brought his impious
words to a close, before the fiddler popped into his presence, too
willing to enter into any arrangement which the reckless farmer was
silly enough to propose. 'Here I am, gossip!' said the cunning little
rascal with well-assumed affability, 'and ready to do your will. Not
that I shall ask your body and soul. I am not so greedy. Bequeath me
your head at your death, you shall have all you ask, and I'll be
satisfied.'

"'Go to the devil, you bandy-legged monster!' screamed Michael in his
fury, poking his lamp at the same time under the Dwarf's beard, so that
the vapoury phantom was nigh being in a blaze.

"'Don't put yourself out, Mike; don't put yourself out!' said Klaus
patronizingly, seating himself upon a chest, and then tuning his fiddle.
'Getting into a passion won't bring the shiners back! What do you say,
gossip, to a tune? Will you dance if I play? I have improved
wonderfully, I can tell you, since I left this half-and-half sort of a
world. Nobody dances now to my touch who doesn't praise it to the skies.
You can't care much for dancing at your time of life, I know; and yet,
if you could get a ducat for every step, and one or two for every hop,
you would put your best foot forward, and try to do something any how--
wouldn't you?'

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