Part 5

Michel noticed that the laborers looked at him angrily, and he thought, “something is wrong here.” It occurred to him that this was a good chance to try the dwarf’s spectacles, and he put them on his nose. The glasses were scarcely before his eyes when the heads of the people appeared to become as transparent as crystal, and he could read their thoughts as plainly as in a book of clear, large type.

In the fat man’s head he read: “You seem to be a strong fellow, and very poor; come, work for me, I will pay you as little as possible, and this gang, which refuses to work for my wages, and leaves me in the lurch in the middle of the harvest, will pull long faces. The rascals will probably break your bones because you are spoiling their game, but that’s your affair, not mine.”

Michel was troubled and turned to the laborers, who were closing round him threateningly. There he read: “What! Does a tramp like you mean to work cheaper here, and serve the rich skinflint for a song? We had brought him to a point where he would be obliged to add a little, and now you cross our plans, and help the rich extortioner against us. May—”

Michel knew enough. “If there is plenty of work here for everybody,” he said to the fat man, “then these people have more right to it than I.” With these words he turned to go.

“Idler!” shouted the fat man, furiously.

“What!” Michel answered, “you want to rob me of my day’s work, and yet call me an idler? For shame, you penny-squeezer!”

The laborers burst into a loud laugh, and one held out his hand to him: “Clasp hands, you are a good fellow. Come and drink a glass of beer with us.”

“Willingly,” replied Michel, and they all left the fat man standing in his turnip field, and went on together until they came to an inn by the roadside, which they entered. On the way they told him that they were engaged in a struggle about wages with the fat man, who was the richest landowner in the neighborhood, and Michel answered that he needed the day’s wages greatly, but he would not take the bread out of their mouths. They now made him tell them how it happened that he was wandering about the world barefoot, and in his shirt sleeves, and pitied him for having been twice outwitted by rascals. So they offered to get him a coat and boots on credit, and obtain work in the neighborhood. Michel was greatly delighted over it, the more so, as he saw through his blue spectacles that their thoughts were sincere, and they meant honestly by him.

In the tavern the laborers ordered food and drink to be set before Michel, and clothed him out of the landlord’s chests and trunks, so that he no longer looked like a tramp. When he was fitted out and had eaten, he glanced around the room. In one corner he saw at a table three fellows, who sat there silently, pledging each other from time to time in large glasses of brandy. One had squint eyes, the second a nose twisted completely on one side, the third was disfigured by a hare-lip. They looked so evil, that Michel was horrified, and quickly seized the dwarf’s spectacles. He was curious to learn what kind of thoughts lurked behind such ugly faces. What he read in their heads made him shudder. They were all three thinking of nothing except that that night they would break into an old castle near the inn, murder the old countess, her young daughter, and two maid-servants, who were living there alone, while the old count was in attendance at court, and steal all their gold and silver. Behind these thoughts, which he saw with terrible distinctness, he read others a little less clearly. The squint-eyed man was imagining how he would stab the women with his dagger, while they knelt before him begging for mercy. The crooked-nosed man fancied he had a pile of gold, into which he was plunging his blood-stained hands. The hare-lipped man meant to attack his two comrades in their sleep, after the crime had been committed, kill them, and rob them of their share of the booty.

Michel asked himself in horror what he could do to prevent the crime and deliver the wicked fellows to punishment. Tell the laborers what he read in the heads of the three monsters? They would not believe him and perhaps think he was crazy. Go to the police and denounce the scoundrels? But how could he prove what they meant to do? If they denied it, he would stand there like a simpleton, and the police would perhaps take him for a rascal who wanted to fool them. After thinking over the matter for a long time, it seemed to him that he could do nothing except deal with the three rogues all alone.

He agreed to meet the laborers the next morning, at the same inn, to go with them to a place to work, took leave of them, and hurried off in the direction that he supposed the castle stood. After questioning all the shepherds and market women he met on the way, he at last reached a thick forest, and there, in a clearing, was the old castle with its solid walls and small windows.

He knocked at the heavy oak door until it slowly opened a little, and in the crack appeared an aged maid-servant, who asked what he wanted. He begged to see the countess, for whom he had an important message.

He was kept waiting a long while outside the door, but at last the maid came back and sulkily invited him to follow her. Michel went behind her to a little tower room, where the old countess received him. Beside her sat her daughter, a young girl, as beautiful as an angel, whose blue eyes were as friendly as the bright day. Michel felt his heart grow as warm as if sunbeams had entered it, and he could not make up his mind to frighten this lovely creature by his story. He told the countess that he must speak to her alone, and, after a little hesitation, she sent her daughter and the servant out and ordered Michel to deliver his message at once.

“Your ladyship,” he said, “three murderers intend to attack your castle to-night, kill you all, and steal your treasures.” Seeing her turn pale, he added quickly: “Have no fear, I will remain to defend you and, so long as I have a drop of blood in my body, no one shall harm a hair of your heads.”

“One against three—” sighed the countess, anxiously.

“I would fight with five, if I only had weapons.”

“There is no lack of arms here,” said the countess. “But would it not be wiser for us to fly to the city at once?”

“The road is long, it is almost dark, and the forest is not safe,” replied Michel. “Besides, your flight would not prevent the robbery of the castle.”

The countess saw this. She was naturally a brave woman, and Michel’s presence somewhat soothed her. She gave him from her husband’s weapons a gun, two pistols, and a dagger, ordered a dainty supper to be served for him, sent her daughter and the two maids to bed early, and then kept watch with him in the castle hall. No persuasion from Michel could induce her to go into her tower and protect herself behind locks and bolts. “If I am warned, I can defend myself,” she said firmly, and so it was settled. Just before midnight the countess and Michel, who were listening behind the oak door, heard soft, stealing steps approaching and whispering voices consulting about the best way of breaking into the castle. Various plans were refused, and at last they agreed that the most nimble robber should climb, by projecting stones, to a window on the second story, fasten a rope wound about his waist to the cross-bars, and drag the others up.

“Now we have the rascals,” Michel whispered into the countess’s ear, and ran before her up the stairs into the room whose window the scoundrel meant to enter. With his gun ready to fire, he waited in the dark until a head appeared above the sill, and then pressed the trigger. A flash, a report, a shriek, a fall, followed one another in an instant. The two robbers who had remained below saw, with terror, their comrade drop at their feet, and turned to fly. Michel and the countess fired at the same time, and saw both fall.

“Hurrah!” shouted Michel, joyously, and, without listening to the countess’s warning, he ran down the stairs, seized a lantern, unbolted the door, and rushed out. At the foot of the castle wall he saw the man with a crooked nose lying with a broken skull, and the one with a hare-lip had a bleeding wound in his breast. The squint-eyed man was not dead. He had received a bullet in the leg, and had fallen, but rose again, and was limping off. Michel pursued him like the wind. But the vagabond suddenly turned and struck fiercely at him with a knife. Michel fired a pistol which stretched the murderer in the grass; then he, too, with the blade in his breast, fell to the earth.

Meanwhile the countess’s daughter and the two maids, roused from their sleep by the firing, came hurrying down. The countess called to them that the danger was over, and all four carried the wounded Michel into the castle, without heeding the three ruffians, who lay dead or senseless.

Michel, too, became unconscious after the four women had laid him on a couch. When he came to himself again, many hours had passed since the adventure of the night. A maid had brought a doctor from the city at dawn, and now the count, who had been informed by a messenger of what had happened, also arrived. Michel heard the doctor tell the count that he would recover, and the countess speak with the highest praise of his courage, to which they all owed their lives. He wanted to raise himself and say that he did not deserve so much honor, but they all ordered him in the same breath to say nothing and keep quiet.

It was many days before Michel’s wound healed. The countess and her daughter nursed him tenderly, and he was always happy whenever he saw the lovely girl beside his bed. His eyes rested constantly upon her, and when they met hers, a faint flush mounted into her cheeks. He longed to know what was passing through her little head, and asked for his blue spectacles. The countess and her daughter wondered at this desire, and wished to know what use he could have for blue spectacles in a darkened sick room. But he only repeated the request, until they yielded and brought the spectacles. He hastily seized them, put them on with trembling hands, and gazed with all his soul at the white brow of the young countess. He read: “Why does he stare at me so strangely? Has the poor young fellow gone crazy?” And beyond were many half-distinct thoughts, which were something like, “That would be a great pity, for he is such a dear, brave fellow, and I am so fond of him that I wish he would stay here with me till the end of my life.”

When he had read this, tears filled his eyes. He took off the glasses, which were dimmed, and did not utter a word. But when the countess left him alone with her daughter, he suddenly seized the lovely girl’s hand and said in a trembling voice: “Beautiful Countess, I am only a poor peasant boy, but I love you very, very dearly, and I know that you love me, too, so I dare to ask you, Will you be my wife?”

“Yes, I will,” she answered softly, sinking into his arms. So the countess found the young couple when she entered. At first she was very angry, and would not consent to have her only daughter marry a peasant lad. But the young lady said: “I will have him or no one. And if you will not let me marry him, it will break my heart.” Then, whether willing or not, the mother was obliged to consent, and even beg the count to give his blessing to the union. Michel was now almost well, so he was again allowed to talk, and the count inquired how he had discovered the plans of the three murderers, two of whom were dead and buried, and the third lay wounded in prison. Michel did not wish to have any secrets from his future father-in-law. He told him about his meeting with the dwarf, who had given him the blue spectacles, and what power these spectacles possessed. The count wanted to try their wonderful magic himself, and was convinced that Michel had not attempted to deceive him.

“You must show the dwarf’s spectacles to the king,” said the count and, when Michel was allowed to rise, he took him to court with him and presented him to the king, who heard his story with amazement. He, too, put on the spectacles, and looked a long while at the courtiers who surrounded his throne.

“Your most gracious Majesty, I will gladly give you the dwarf’s spectacles, if you will accept them from me.”

The king slowly shook his head, took them off, and returned them to Michel. “No,” he said, “I do not want them. I would rather not be compelled to read the thoughts of men. It does not give happiness. I will even try to forget what I have read. I will appoint you the chief judge of my kingdom. Then you can apply the dwarf’s spectacles to a useful purpose.”

Michel was now a person of importance, whom even a count would willingly accept for a son-in-law. He brought his mother from the carpenter’s home in the village, married the beautiful young countess, moved into a splendid palace in the capital, and performed his duties as chief justice, with the blue spectacles on his nose.

Nobody among the people knew their power, but soon all trembled before it. For through them Michel read the truth in the head of the most hardened criminal and most skilful sharper; no lie could stand before him, and no injustice remained concealed. No innocent person was condemned, and no guilty one escaped punishment; henceforward law and justice reigned throughout the kingdom. Michel was feared by the bad, honored by the good, and praised by all as the wisest man in the whole country, and so it remained to the end of his long life.

THE GOLDEN BEETLE THAT WENT ON HIS TRAVELS

Once upon a time there lived in Brazil an Atlas butterfly that was far more beautiful than any which had ever been seen before. Her large wings shimmered with green and pale blue, and when she was flying about in the sunshine one could not tell whether it was a wonderful flower, a jewel set with precious stones and pearls, or the flame of a will-o’-the-wisp fluttering through the air.

In the same forest there lived also brilliant little humming-birds, magnificent large beetles, and friendly parrots. They formed a very haughty society, and associated only with one another and the most aristocratic orchids, around which they daily gathered for a little gossip with the most delicious refreshments. Among them was also a golden beetle of the richest species, that seemed to be made entirely of the precious metal. This golden beetle had been a playmate of the Atlas butterfly, a young lady of noble birth, from her childhood. The two had loved each other very dearly, flew about with each other a great deal, danced together in the sunshine, and charmed every one who saw them by their brilliancy and play of colors. It was generally believed in the forest that the golden beetle and the Atlas butterfly were engaged to each other and would be married some day, and there was only one opinion about it,—that they would make a glorious pair.

Then one day it happened that a European appeared in the primeval forest, searching for rare orchids. In his rambles he, too, saw the Atlas butterfly, and at sight of her he neglected the valuable flowers and had eyes only for the marvellously beautiful butterfly. He was on the watch for her at all hours of the day, and eagerly pursued her when he saw her flying by. The monkeys noticed and chattered about it; it came also to the ears of the parrots, who shook their heads, saying that the matter would come to no good end. The humming-birds thought it advisable to warn the Atlas butterfly that she might be on her guard. But they delayed too long; one noon the butterfly was missing from the meeting; the golden beetle at once flew to the palm tree where the beauty lived, but did not find her at home; all the animals in the forest helped him search, but all was in vain—the Atlas butterfly had vanished.

The golden beetle was not to be comforted. He withdrew into a hollow tree, would neither eat nor drink, and saw no one. The humming-birds came and, to rouse him from his grief, told him that all sorts of things were being said in the forest. It was reported that the Atlas butterfly had eloped with the European orchid hunter, so he need not grieve for the vain creature. The humming-birds meant kindly. They thought such speeches would console his sorrow, but they only increased his grief. “You lie!” cried the golden beetle violently; “my bride is as good and true as she is beautiful. She would never have left me of her own free will. A scoundrel has certainly captured and dragged her away by force, perhaps even killed her. You are slandering her. Go! I wish to be alone.”

An honest but rough Hercules beetle had heard all this. “You are a weak fellow,” said the rude giant to the delicate golden beetle. “If you care for your betrothed bride and believe in her faithfulness, don’t creep into your hole. Stir yourself. Do something. Search for your Atlas butterfly. Perhaps you will find her.”

These words roused the golden beetle a little from his depression. At the next meeting of the fashionable society of the forest, he again appeared, and received proofs of sympathy for his misfortune from all sides. He told a clever parrot what the Hercules beetle had said, and asked what he thought of it.

“The rude fellow is right,” said the parrot; “there is really no sense in giving yourself up idly to your despair. You are young, you have your life before you, you are immensely rich; if you make a proper use of your advantages, you can recover your happiness again.”

“What is the use of my wealth?” complained the golden beetle; “I cannot buy with my gold my Atlas butterfly if I have lost her.”

“No,” replied the parrot; “but you can search the world, follow the traces of your betrothed bride, and become united to her again. I’ll tell you something. One of our handsomest lories is soon going to Europe. He has obtained a splendid position in one of the zoölogical gardens of the Old World. Put yourself into communication with him. Perhaps you can travel with him. When you are once over there, the rest will take care of itself.”

According to the custom of all talkative people, the parrot had considerably exaggerated the truth. The lory had no brilliant position, but had simply been captured and placed in a cage, to be sold to a European zoölogical garden. This bird-cage was hung in the porch of a farm-house at the edge of the forest, until there should be an opportunity to send the valuable bird to the nearest seaport. The golden beetle easily found him, and creeping through the wires of the cage, he asked if he would take him to Europe as a travelling companion?

The lory consented with great pleasure, for now he would have a countryman with whom he could talk all day long. But he advised him to travel incognito, to avoid the plundering to which he would certainly be exposed if he displayed his wealth. The advice was good, though the parrot had given it solely from vanity. He was afraid that the magnificence of the golden beetle would cast his own rich colors into the shade. The golden beetle cared nothing for appearances. He bought from a spider a gray overcoat, which covered him from his feelers to the end of his body, and allowed no glimpse of his shining gold to be seen. In this plain travelling costume he was perfectly unpretending and attracted no one’s eyes. When the lory was taken to the seaport in its cage, it was not noticed that he had a travelling companion, and even the sailors who carried the cage with the gay-plumaged, chattering bird to the ship and stowed it away under the deck, did not notice or did not see the beetle sitting modestly in a corner.

On the journey he fared badly. He was terribly seasick, and a seasick beetle is a sorry spectacle, even if he is a golden beetle. The ship was swarming with cockroaches, which made their way into the cage, carried on the most careless housekeeping in it, and, in spite of his proud reserve, treated the golden beetle with the most unpleasant familiarity, as if he were one of themselves. But he patiently endured the vulgarity of the coarse, dirty brown, evil-smelling fellows, thinking constantly of his beautiful Atlas butterfly, for whose sake he exposed himself to all this discomfort.

The sea voyage lasted three weeks, then the steamer ran into the harbor, the parrot was taken out and carried to the zoölogical garden, where henceforth, with a thin metal chain fastened to one foot, attached to a shining brass ring, he was to live in the midst of a noisy throng of lories, cockatoos, and other parrots. When he was taken out of his cage, the lory said to the golden beetle: “Now we must take leave of each other, for I shall enter upon the duties of my new office. You are now in Europe and can set out on the search for your betrothed bride. I wish you much success in it. And if you need advice or anything else, come to this garden, and ask for the Brazilian ambassador in the parrot-house.”

The golden beetle left his countryman and continued his search alone. At first he liked the foreign country very well. He had left his Brazilian forest in the winter, and supposed it was now winter in Europe. So he was surprised to find himself in the midst of summer, for he did not know that it is summer in Europe when it is winter in Brazil, and vice versa. He wandered about on the soft turf in the garden for a while, until he met a running beetle.

“Holloa, comrade,” he called to him; “are there any golden beetles around here?”

The running beetle was in a hurry as usual. Without stopping in his career, he called over his shoulder: “Look for the rose-bushes. But nothing will be given there to-day,” for he thought the gray-coated stranger was a tramp seeking alms from the rich.

The golden beetle followed the directions, and after some little search, found the rose-bushes. He was going to make his way through the branches, still covered with thick leaves, when a stag beetle met him and with his horns raised threateningly, shouted roughly: “Halt! Where do you want to go?”

“I want to pay my respects to the golden beetles and make their acquaintance.”

“Oho!” replied the stag beetle, insolently, “do you suppose that a shabby fellow like you can be introduced to their lordships, the golden beetles, so unceremoniously? Move on.”

“But I am a relative of the golden beetles, a near relative,” said the golden beetle, much embarrassed.

“Of course,” sneered the stag beetle; “rich gentlemen have a great many relatives. Off with you, and quickly, or I’ll make you find your legs!”

As the golden beetle lingered, the stag beetle seized him roughly with his horns, to throw him out. The gray overcoat tore under the rude grasp, and an end of the shining gold cover of his wings appeared. The stag beetle let him go in astonishment, stared at him with his big black eyes, shook his feelers doubtfully, and said: “If you will kindly excuse me—I could not know—I will announce your lordship at once—” after which he hurried away.

The golden beetle perceived that he must make it easy for his kinsmen to recognize him, and stripped off his spider-web overcoat entirely. When several of the golden beetles, summoned by the stag beetle, appeared to welcome their cousin, they stood still, fairly dazzled. Never had they seen such magnificence. The European golden beetles were small, and had only a few modest gold spots, streaks, and rings on their backs and wings, while this South American cousin was probably four times as large, and his whole body, without a single break, was covered with glistening gold. In Europe they were considered immensely rich, but, in comparison with this American millionaire, they seemed to themselves poor. He aroused their secret envy, but they did not allow it to be seen, received him very cordially, begged him to come in, set rose dew before him, and inquired about, his affairs.