Part 2

But then autumn came. The wind moaned piteously through the trees, driving brown leaves in whirling gusts before their eyes. Winter followed, covering the grim woods with a mantle of shining white. Their clothes were thin. Their feet were bare, and it was cold--bitter, bitter cold. So they wandered on and on, day after day, until at last, faint with hunger, sick with despair, they came, all unknowingly, to the lonely glade between the high mountains where the Witch's hut stood.

The hideous Witch was no longer there. Because they believed she had prophesied falsely, the infuriated people of Hellabrun had burned her at the stake. Only the Broom-maker and the Wood-cutter were in the miserable tumble-down hut; while out in the grim forest were the Fiddler and the one pure-hearted little girl, seeking, ever seeking, with eyes of faith for the rightful King and Queen.

With steps that faltered, and eyes half closed, the King's Son and the Goosegirl crept into the glade. Tottering feebly, hand in hand, they approached the door of the hut, and knocking, begged for shelter, for food, for drink.

The face of the Wood-cutter appeared at the window for a brief moment. Blinded by his distrust, he saw only two beggar children before the door.

"Away with you! We have naught to give," he shouted as he slammed the broken shutter.

Hopelessly, sadly, the King's Son bore the Goosegirl to the snow-covered mound beneath the linden tree. Whither could he turn to get his loved one food? Ah, foolish, foolish King's Son who would not rule, who could not beg!

The Goosegirl, clinging to him tenderly, felt his despair, saw his eyes fill with tears. Crying out that she was not ill, but was well and strong, she rose to her feet. To cheer him, she tripped lightly to and fro, singing a gay little song. Faster and faster twinkled her little feet, brighter and brighter grew her smiles. But weaker and weaker became her voice, paler and paler her face, until she fell, fainting, into the snow.

Then the King's Son rushed to her and took her in his arms. He wrapped his cloak about her and carried her back to the mound. She opened her eyes and smiled.

"King! My King!" she whispered.

Like a flash the King's Son remembered his crown. He opened the bundle and took it out.

"Do not sell your crown, O King!" murmured the Goosegirl.

"I will! I must!" replied the King's Son. "It will bring you bread."

He arose hastily, broke the shining crown into pieces, and ran toward the hut.

Rap! Rap! Rap! "Let me in!" he cried impatiently.

"Do you want to break down the door?" replied the Broom-maker, appearing at the window.

"I care not," answered the King's Son. "Here is gold. Now will you give me bread?"

Gold? The greedy eyes of the Broom-maker gave the glittering fragments one glance. Then he called the Wood-cutter. And they whispered, and they searched all through the miserable hut until they found the poisoned bread, the foul-smelling bread, which the Goosegirl had made as the Witch had directed on that bright summer day long, long ago.

With it in their hands they ran to the window. They handed it to the King's Son, and he gave them gold, his golden crown, in its stead.

The King's Son snatched the loaf and ran joyfully toward the mound and fell at the Goosegirl's feet, crying:

"I'm bringing bread, dear one! bread! Take it! Eat it!"

"Not I alone," answered the Goosegirl. "You, too."

So they broke the bread in two, and, laughing happily, they ate it eagerly. They ate it all to its bitter, bitter end. Then, clasped in each other's arms, they lay down to sleep and dreamed of rosy clouds of glory wafting them toward sunny lands of everlasting bliss; and dreaming, slept and--knew no more. And the snowflakes fell softly, silently, and covered them with a shining robe of fleeciest white.

A little later, the Fiddler and the little pure-hearted girl, followed by a troop of children, entered the glade, all seeking, still seeking with eyes of faith, for the rightful King and Queen. As they approached the snow-covered mound the snow suddenly ceased falling; and the sunset glow from the west shone down and revealed the Kingly Children asleep forevermore.

HAENSEL AND GRETEL

I

Long ago, in half-forgotten days, a little hut stood at the edge of a great forest. It was rather a meek, shamefaced little hut, for the forest was great and beautiful, and the hut was small and ugly. Still, it had a glowing fireplace inside, and a brick chimney on top, and it was somebody's home, which--after all--is the principal thing.

A broom-maker named Peter lived there with his wife Gertrude and their two children, Haensel and Gretel. The broom-maker was poor, oh, very, very poor, and that is why his home was not beautiful to see. But he was an honest, upright man who loved his family, and had he been able, I am sure, he would have housed them in a marble palace. Unfortunately, however, the broom-making business had been unusually poor that year.

Indeed, on the very day that our story begins, Peter and his wife were both away from home in quest of work, and only Haensel and Gretel were to be seen inside the hut.

Lest you should not know, it might be well to mention that Haensel was the boy. He was busily engaged--or, at least, he was supposed to be--in making brooms, while Gretel, the girl, had her knitting in hand. But it was extremely difficult to keep their thoughts or their eyes, either, upon such stupid work. Each breeze that blew in through the open window brought an invitation from the fascinatingly sunlit grassy spot before the door. Even the trees in the forest beyond beckoned to them with their tall branches.

Besides, there was another cause for rebellion on that particular afternoon. To tell the truth, the children were hungry. Moreover, since there seemed to be absolutely nothing in the house to eat, it was quite likely that they would remain hungry, which was the worst part of all.

Haensel, after the manner of boys, threw his work into the farthest corner of the room and fairly shouted:

"I just wish Mother would come home! I'm hungry, that's what I am. For a week I've eaten nothing but bread, and little of that. Oh, Gret, it would be such a treat if we had something good to eat!"

Now Gretel, as it happened, was every bit as hungry as he, but, after the manner of girls, she sought to comfort him.

"Don't be an old crosspatch," she said. "If you'll stop complaining, I'll tell you a secret. But you must smile first!"

Haensel smiled.

She went on:

"Do you see that jug over there on the table? Well--it's full of milk. Somebody left it here. And if you're good, Mother will stew rice in it when she comes home."

Haensel had heard such stories before.

"Don't believe it," said he. "It's too good to be true."

Nevertheless he went to see. And when his eyes assured him that what was in the jug really looked like milk, he was overcome with the temptation to find out whether it tasted like milk, also. First he gave a sly glance at Gretel and then down went his forefinger into the jug!

"Haensel! aren't you ashamed, you greedy boy? Out with your finger!" For Gretel had caught him in the act.

"Get back to your work in a hurry, for you know if Mother comes before we've finished, there'll be trouble."

Haensel, however, was not inclined toward work that afternoon. In fact, he was in a very rebellious mood, altogether.

"Don't let's work," suggested he. "Let's dance."

Now you must remember that Gretel was only a little girl with twinkling feet that loved to dance and a merry voice that loved to sing. So do not judge her too harshly, even though she quickly dropped her tiresome knitting.

Their wooden shoes--for they were the style in those days--clattered over the board floor; they clapped their hands, their childish voices rang out, and they had, all in all, a most beautiful time. They forgot their empty stomachs; they forgot their aching fingers. Gretel, who was clever in such things, taught Haensel some new steps. And he, less awkward than usual, learned them so quickly that Gretel praised him for his aptness. Her words made him as proud as a peacock. He seized her hands in both of his own. Round and round they whirled, faster and faster, until suddenly, losing their balance, they fell, laughing loudly, in one heap on the floor.

And then--the door opened.

"Gracious goodness!" they cried. "It's Mother!" And up they jumped in double-quick time.

Yes, it was Mother, and an angry Mother at that.

"What does this mean?" she exclaimed, "all the noise and clatter? Where is your work, you good-for-nothing children?"

The children, half penitent, wholly frightened, looked at each other. Haensel blamed Gretel, Gretel blamed Haensel.

The Mother blamed them both. She scolded, she raged, she brandished a stick, and I confess I am afraid to think of what her anger might have led her to do next. But just at that moment, in her excitement, she gave the milk jug a push, and down it went, breaking into a thousand pieces, with the precious milk running in little streams all over the floor. That was the last straw! What was there left to be cooked for supper?

The furious woman snatched a basket from a nail on the wall. She thrust it into Gretel's hand.

"Off with you both to the wood!" she cried. "And hurry up, too! Pick strawberries for supper! If the basket isn't full, you'll get a whipping. Yes, that's what you'll get." She shook her fist to make the admonition more impressive.

Scarcely had they gone, however, when the woman, completely exhausted, sat down by the table and began to weep and moan. You see, she was really not an ill-natured woman at all. Poverty had embittered her, and the mere thought that her children might be starving, caused her to lose entire control of her feelings. It had been a long, wearisome, and disappointing day, and now, even at its end, her own irritability had caused another calamity. Angry with herself, the world, and everything, she rested her head on her arms and sobbed herself to sleep.

Do you know the old verse, "It is always darkest just before dawn"? Now, if the mother had been patient only a little longer, all would have been well. But then there would have been no story to tell.

The mother was still sleeping when the father came home. He was singing joyfully, and he awoke her with a kiss.

"See," he cried happily, "my brooms are all sold. There was a festival in the town to-day, and every one must needs be clean. Such a sweeping and a dusting and a cleaning! I drove a roaring trade, I tell you. So, here's butter and eggs and ham and sausage. And tea, too. Hurry up, good wife, and get supper ready!"

The mother packed away the things. She lighted the fire. She hustled and bustled about. Suddenly the father, missing the children, inquired:

"Where are Haensel and Gretel?" He went to the door to call.

"Don't call," answered the mother. "They were naughty, and I sent them to the woods in disgrace."

"The woods!" exclaimed the father, and his voice was full of horror.

"It is growing dark," he said, "and my children are in those gloomy woods without stars or moon to guide them! Don't you know that there is enchantment in those woods? Don't you know that the Witch walks there?" His voice sank to a whisper.

"Which witch?" asked the woman, thoroughly alarmed.

"The Crust Witch, the gobbling Witch! She who rides on a broomstick at the midnight hour, when no one is abroad, over hill and vale, over moor and dale!"

"Oh! Oh! Oh! but what does she gobble?"

"Have you never heard? All day long, she stalks around, with a crinching, crunching, munching sound and lures little children with gingerbread sweet. She lures little children, the poor little things, into her oven, all red-hot; then she shuts the lid down, pop, pop!--until they're done brown."

"Oh, horror!" cried the mother, wringing her hands. "Oh, what shall we do?"

"Go seek them!" said the father.

And in another moment without hats, shawl, anything, they had run out of the hut.

II

The sunset glow lighted the forest. It bathed the stately trees in rose and gold. It shone on the cool carpet of leaves and wild flowers, and played with the garlands of bright-colored vines.

But the purple mist of twilight that hung over the distant fir-colored hill sent gray shadows down. They crept behind the hedges and bushes, warning the birds, the bees, and the flowers that night was drawing nigh.

One lingering ray of sunshine lit the mossy rock upon which Gretel sat. She was weaving a wreath of wild flowers and singing a little song, while Haensel ran hither and thither, filling his basket with red strawberries.

So, if you have imagined that they were at all unhappy, you see you were quite mistaken. Indeed, they were entirely, wonderfully, breathlessly happy. I doubt if they gave their mother's scolding a single thought. As for their home, they had quite forgotten all about it, which, for aught I know, may have been part of the enchantment. At any rate, they had never had a better time.

When Haensel's basket was full, Gretel's wreath was finished. So they played at being king and queen of the wood, and Gretel wore the wreath, and Haensel knelt in homage before her, presenting her with the basket of berries. Whereupon, as a reward, she gave him some of the ripest ones to taste. Soon tiring of this they went on to another game. A cuckoo called from a tree near by, and they imitated his call, seeking each other behind tall tree trunks. But saddest of all to tell, they ate the strawberries while they played--yes, every single one.

When they attempted to find fresh ones, they discovered that it had grown too dark. There were black shadows under the hedges and bushes now. A gray blanket of clouds was spread over the sky.

Then fear came. For they could not find their way. Gretel saw strange figures glimmering behind the birches. She saw strange faces grinning at her from every mossy tree stump. Now it was Haensel who sought to comfort her. A mist arose and shut them in. Advancing dimly through it, they spied a lantern. Haensel said it was a will-o'-the-wisp. They heard a call. He said it was the echo.

When Gretel began to whimper and cry, Haensel held her fast in his arms. But the shadows of strange things continued to nod and beckon. One shadow grew and grew and grew. It moved toward them, and both children cowered down in fear. Their eyes never left it.

Suddenly the shadow took shape, and there stood an odd little gray man. He had a long white beard. He leaned on a staff, and he carried a sack on his back. Strange to say, the moment that the children saw his calm smile and his friendly gestures they were not afraid any more. He came toward them, chanting a quiet song about restful sleep and happy dreams. Before they knew what he was about, he had sprinkled sand into their tired eyes. Then Haensel and Gretel folded their hands and sleepily whispered their evening prayer. With their arms about each other's necks they sank slowly into the soft moss and soon were fast asleep.

The little man disappeared as he had come, into the mist. But the mist became roseate. It rolled itself into a fleecy cloud, which mounted higher and higher until it touched the sky. What magic was this? It changed again into a marvelous golden stairway! And down the stairway floated beautiful guardian angels with dazzling wings and golden wands. They grouped themselves about the sleeping children, at their heads, at their feet, all about them. Waving their golden wands, they sent down showers of wonderful dreams. Oh, such gleaming, glistening, unutterable dreams!

III

Scarcely had the sun peeped over the eastern horizon than the Dew Fairy came fluttering into the woodland. Her wings were tinged with the first blush of dawn and her garments were tipped with rosy light. She carried armfuls of bluebells, and as she flitted lightly about, sweet music rippled on the air. How she smiled when she saw Haensel and Gretel asleep under the tall fir tree!

"Up, ye sleepers! Awake! Awake!" she sang. Then, sprinkling dew from the bluebells into their eyes, she vanished into the sunlit air.

Gretel rubbed her eyes sleepily and raised herself from the moss. Was she still in the beautiful greenwood? Ah, yes, she must be there. For birds were merrily chirping overhead. There were glimpses of bright blue sky between the leaf-laden branches.

"Wake up, lazy bones!" she called to Haensel.

He jumped up with a start, stretched himself, yawned once or twice, looked about. Oh, the wonderful, wonderful forest!

The sun had mounted higher in the sky. The woods were filled with a mellow radiance. The morning mists had cleared away. And, most astonishing of all, on the very hill so lately hidden by dark trees and fleecy clouds, they beheld a most entrancing sight.

A house stood there. But such a house! It was as beautiful--as beautiful,--in short, I am afraid to tell you how undescribably beautiful it was. The walls were of sweetest sugar candy, glistening like diamonds in the sun; the roof was of chocolate cake, all soft and creamy; and the gables were ornamented with raisins, like little eyes. On one side there was a strange-looking cage; on the other, a huge, strange-looking oven; and both were joined to the house by a fence made of the daintiest gingerbread figures imaginable.

"Oh," cried Haensel, "did you ever see anything so wonderful?"

"No, I never did," answered Gretel. "A princess must live in that."

They stared and stared, while their mouths watered and their fingers itched prodigiously.

Haensel wished to go boldly inside, but the mere thought of doing anything so rash frightened Gretel.

"Well, the angels led us here," reflected Haensel.

"Ye-es, that's true, they did," conceded Gretel.

"Come on. Let's just nibble a little bit," tempted Haensel.

And so, hand in hand, they hopped along, like two little mice, toward the magic house. Then they stole cautiously forward on tiptoe, until, at length, they were within reaching distance. Haensel's hand went out. He broke off a bit.

Quick as lightning came a squeaking voice from the inside:

"Nibble, nibble, mousekin, Who's nibbling at my housekin?"

Haensel started back in fear.

"'Twas only the wind," said Gretel. "Let's taste it."

They did. Since it tasted better than anything they had ever eaten before, they feasted merrily for a while, never heeding the voice of the Witch or her ugly form, either, which, a little later, appeared at the door. I have no doubt that they would be feasting yet, if the Witch had not then and there stealthily stolen upon them. With a deft movement she threw a rope about Haensel's neck and held him fast.

The children's delight turned to terror. For she was a loathsome sight to see. Bent, toothless, with unkempt hair and clawlike hands, she looked the picture of a Witch indeed.

In spite of her appearance, however, she spoke to them in a very kindly manner. She called them pretty names, told them that they were nice and plump, and that they would make excellent gingerbread. She even caressed Haensel, which made him very angry. Wriggling and squirming, he managed to loosen the rope and seizing Gretel by the hand, ran--alas! only a short distance. For the Witch, holding aloft a juniper branch, circled it in the air, repeating these strange words:

"Hocus, pocus, witch's charm, Move not, as you fear my arm!"

The children stood stock-still. They were stiff from head to toe. Fortunately, by this time they had undergone so many strange adventures that they had learned fairly well how to conduct themselves.

"Watch carefully all she does!" whispered Haensel, as the Witch led him away to the cage and gave him nuts and raisins to fatten him.

"I will," said Gretel.

Therefore, when, a few moments later, the Witch disenchanted her in order that she might prepare the table, Gretel listened attentively to the words:

"Hocus, pocus, elder bush, Rigid body, loosen hush!"

No sooner had Gretel run into the house than the Witch was seized with a fit of wild joy. She thrust more fagots into the fire, laughing wickedly when the flames flared higher and higher. She mounted her broomstick and rode about, shouting a weird song.

Gretel watched her from the doorway. That broomstick ride gave her an opportunity. She stole to the cage, and, whispering,

"Hocus, pocus, elder bush, Rigid body, loosen hush!"

she set Haensel free. But he did not move. No, not yet.

For the Witch had come back. She was rubbing her hands with glee. Her face wore an evil smile. Oh, the fine meal she would have! Haensel was not plump enough. Gretel must be eaten first. So, opening the oven door, she called Gretel and told her to look inside. But clever Gretel pretended not to understand. Would not the Witch show her how? Angry, impatient, muttering to herself, the Witch crept nearer to the oven, and when she was about to bend over it, Haensel and Gretel gave her one good, hard push from behind. She toppled over and fell in. Bang! bang! went the door. She was safe inside.

How the fire crackled and roared. A moment later there was a great crash and the oven fell to pieces. Haensel and Gretel, much terrified, started to run away, but found themselves, to their great surprise, entirely surrounded by a troop of little children.

"It's the fence," exclaimed Haensel, "the gingerbread fence!"

And so it was. The gingerbread had fallen off, and real children stood there, motionless, with closed eyes, murmuring softly:

"Oh, touch us, we pray, That we may all awake!"

"Pooh! if that's all they want!" said Gretel, proudly, and she repeated:

"Hocus, pocus, elder bush, Rigid body, loosen hush!"

Instantly life came back to the whole troop. They hurried toward Haensel and Gretel from all sides. They danced, they sang! Two boys ran to the oven and dragged out the Witch in the form of a big gingerbread cake. Then the merrymaking began in earnest. They made a big circle, and round and round it they danced. Last but not least, they ate up the candy house. At any rate, that is what they were doing when their mothers and fathers found them there that afternoon.

THE MASTER SINGERS

I

Across the wide sea, amid the green hop fields of southern Germany, is the old, old city of Nuremberg. Shut off from the busy world outside by its great wall of stone, it has stood unchanged through all the passing centuries. There are the same narrow, crooked streets leading to the public squares, where quaintly carved stone fountains stand. There are the same many gabled, lofty houses, with oriole windows that open outward. There are latticed doorways with plaster figures that beckon and bless and welcome. And the gray castle, the grass-grown moat, the dark, pillared church, all tell stories of the days of long ago.

In those days men dreamed dreams and sang songs as they sat on the bench or in the market place. The cobbler at his last, the baker before the oven, the silversmith by the fire, even the little apprentice, watching and learning, looked out upon a fair world and found it good. So while hands were busy, thoughts roved far and wide, and fancy wove many a song to sing by the fireside on wintry nights.

But not only by the fireside were those songs sung in the days when Nuremberg was young. The good people there prized the Art of Song too highly for that alone.