The Project Gutenberg eBook, Great Opera Stories, by Millicent Schwab Bender This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: Great Opera Stories Taken from Original Sources in Old German Author: Millicent Schwab Bender Release Date: January 23, 2012 [eBook #38654] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GREAT OPERA STORIES*** E-text prepared by Juliet Sutherland, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) THE MARKET PLACE IN NUREMBURG EVERYCHILD'S SERIES GREAT OPERA STORIES TAKEN FROM ORIGINAL SOURCES IN OLD GERMAN BY MILLICENT S. BENDER ILLUSTRATED New York [ii] [iii] THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1935 All rights reserved Copyright, 1912, By THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and electrotyped. Published September, 1912. Reprinted March, 1913; June, 1915; January, September, 1916; November, 1917 July, 1931; November, 1935. Printed in the United States of America CONTENTS PAGE Children of Kings 1 Haensel and Gretel 35 The Master Singers 57 Lohengrin, the Knight of the Swan 101 The Flying Dutchman 137 Tannhäuser, the Minstrel Knight 156 GREAT OPERA STORIES CHILDREN OF KINGS I Once upon a time, in a lonely glade between high mountains far, far above the World of Men, there stood a hut. It was a miserable, tumbledown, little hut, and the mosses of many summers clung to its sloping roof. It had a bent stovepipe where its chimney should have been, a slanting board in place of a doorstep, and just one, poor, little, broken window. Yet it was not its forlorn appearance alone that made the hut hide behind the shadows of the grim forest, far away from the sight of man. It had more, much more than that to be ashamed of. For a hideous Witch lived there,—and with her, a Goosegirl. They lived alone, those two,—the Goosegirl, with the joy of youth in her heart; and the Witch, unmindful of joy or youth, thinking only of magic and evil and hate. While the Goosegirl had been growing from babyhood to girlhood, from girlhood to womanhood, dreaming and wondering and wishing,—she knew not what,—the Witch had been trying to make her as ugly and as wicked as herself. But try as she would, the heart of the Goosegirl was so pure that evil could find no spot in it to lodge. As for her face, each passing year left it lovelier than the last. The sunshine was no brighter than her yellow hair, the sky no bluer than her clear blue eyes. The lone lily before the hut envied the whiteness of her skin, and the birch tree in the woods, the slenderness of her form. [iv] [v] [vi] [vii] [viii] [1] [2] Now it chanced upon a sunny afternoon in summer that the Goosegirl lay on her back in the long grass before the hut. Now and then she tossed a handful of corn to her quacking geese or played with a wreath of wild daisies. But her thoughts were far away. Her eyes were full of the wonder of things,—of the sun that shone, the brook that laughed, the flowers that bloomed, the birds that sang, and the blue sky over all. And her dreams were full of the World of Men, which she had never seen and to which she longed to go. Something within her whispered that happiness was to be found there, and the Goosegirl desired happiness above all things. And she desired kindness and love, too, although she had never heard of them, and did not know what they were. As far back as she could remember, ever since she was a tiny little child, the Goosegirl had lived in the wretched hut. And the hideous Witch had been her only companion. The Goosegirl wondered whether all the people in the World of Men had such gruesome bodies, such ugly faces, such evil ways, as the Witch. She had never seen any one else, so she could not tell. For fear of the Witch no one had ever come that way. Winter and summer, summer and winter, it had always been the same. The Goosegirl's dreams were suddenly interrupted by the hoarse voice of the Witch. "Where are you, good-for-naught?" came from the doorway. "Idle, I'll be bound, when there's work to be done!" The Goosegirl turned her eyes toward the figure of the Witch, and, familiar as it was, for the thousandth time she shuddered with disgust. The crooked back, the burning eyes peering out from under the tangled hair, the rags, the ugliness,—oh, must she always stay? She arose slowly and walked toward the door. With hands outstretched she begged the hideous creature to set her free and to let her go down to the World of Men to seek for happiness. "I will never become a Witch," she implored. "Oh, please let me go." The Witch's crooked mouth widened into a horrible smile. One yellow tooth stuck out. "Not make a Witch of you, indeed! Wait and see! I'll bend your proud back!" Then brandishing her cane, she muttered savagely: "Get to work. There's bread to knead!" The frightened Goosegirl ran for bowl and flour, and set to work. Meanwhile the Witch took out some dark powders. She mumbled strange words over them, and while the Goosegirl, with busy hands but unseeing eyes, kneaded and kneaded and kneaded, the Witch poured the powders into the dough. Poor Goosegirl! Her bread was soon finished, but it was a foul-smelling bread, and it contained enough poison to kill a dozen men. Soon afterward the Witch, chuckling fiendishly, took up her basket and hobbled away to the grim forest. But the Goosegirl, full of horror for the deed she had been made to do, sat motionless, staring straight ahead. Would her life never, never change? With a sigh she called to her geese and wandered back to her place in the grass. Ah, that there should be so much evil in such a beautiful world! She looked at the dancing shadows of the fluttering leaves. They were beautiful. There was beauty in the thin, blue line of smoke as it climbed lazily upward from the broken chimney. Two turtledoves cooed above her head. The sunlight shimmered upon the wings of the buzzing bumblebees and made them shine like gold. All, all was beautiful. Were people the only ugly things? The Goosegirl gazed toward the World of Men far, far below, and wondered. Presently her fingers, wandering idly over the grass, found the wreath of daisies. Idly she placed it upon her head. "Look at me, geese!" she cried. "Look at me! Am I ugly, too?" With the geese at her heels, she ran swiftly toward the pool and peered earnestly into its clear depths. Her hair hung in long golden strands on each side of her face, her eyes shone like stars, her cheeks were flushed. "Ah!" she exclaimed happily. "I am beautiful! Geese dear, I am beautiful, very beautiful!" And she gazed and gazed again. Suddenly a song broke the silence. The Goosegirl started. For it was a song of youth and joy, the like of which she had never heard before in all her life. Then, down from the mountains, out of the woods, straight to that lonely glade, came a youth, a ragged youth, but a noble youth, with a sword at his side, a bundle on his back, and a smile on his lips. His bearing was so proud, he looked so straight ahead, with eyes both fearless and true, that the Goosegirl held her breath as he halted before her. "Hey, pretty Queen of the Geese," he said. "How goes the world with you? Have you no greeting for me?" The Goosegirl continued to stare, saying nothing, her eyes wide with wonder. Finally she found her voice, and in a whisper just loud enough for him to hear, ventured timidly: "Are you a man?" "From top to toe!" exclaimed the youth, and laughed. How he laughed! He threw back his head, his white teeth gleamed, and the distant hills rang with the joyous sound. Even the Goosegirl was forced to smile at her own ignorance. [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] Such merriment soon made them the best of friends, and before long, seated side by side in the grass, the youth told the Goosegirl whence he had come and whither he was roving. A King's Son was he, of noble name and fortune. High up among the mountains stood his father's castle, and there, amid the luxuries of the court, he had been reared. But when he had grown old enough to wander, the luxury had palled, the court life had fettered his free spirit. "Up and away!" cried a summons from within his heart. And so, while no one watched, he had stolen forth, with naught but a sword by his side, a bundle on his back, and a song on his lips. And he had wandered over the mountains, through the valleys, up and down, in and out, in search of adventure. The Goosegirl heard the marvelous tale to the end. Then in faltering tones, but with shining eyes, she said slowly: "Oh, that I might go with you!" The youth smiled scornfully. "King's Son and beggar maid!" exclaimed he, shaking his head. But as he looked into her face he stopped short. The nobility of her expression, her simple beauty, drew him nearer. Ah! this was no beggar maid. There was something regal in the pose of that golden head, the glance of those clear blue eyes. What a companion she would make for now and forevermore! He forgot the rags, he forgot the geese, he forgot the hut. "Have you courage?" he asked, gazing at her searchingly. In answer she placed her hand in his. So he took off her wreath of white daisies and placed it within his jacket, close to his heart. And he opened his bundle and drew forth a golden crown, which he placed upon her head. Then crying: "Up and away!" he led her to the edge of the grim wood. At that instant, however, the sky began to darken with rushing clouds. Broad flashes of lightning blazed forth, thunder rolled, and the wind blew furiously through the trees. The geese flapped their wings in terror and gathered about the Goosegirl. She stood still, staring before her in fear. She was turned to stone. She could not move. Her feet were fixed to the ground. "What makes you stand so still and stare?" cried the King's Son. "Oh, I am afraid!" answered the Goosegirl. "I cannot go! I am bewitched!" "Fear is but shame," declared the King's Son, angrily. "You have lied to me. You are not fit to wander with a King's Son. You are only a beggar maid, after all." Then, overpowered by his wrath, he made ready to go, adding: "Farewell. You shall never see me any more. No, never again, unless a star from heaven falls into the lily yonder." And pointing to the lone lily by the door of the hut, he rushed into the grim forest and was lost to sight. II The Goosegirl, saddened, disheartened, hid her golden crown and dragged herself wearily into the hut. The hideous Witch, returning with her venomous load, soon followed. And evening came. All was still. But for the thin column of smoke rising from the stovepipe one would not have known that any life was there. Just as the golden edge of the moon peeped over the eastern mountain a loud song burst upon the air. And a moment later a Fiddler, clad in leather jacket and boots, appeared, emerging from the grim wood. He strode forth boldly as befitted an honest man who had nothing to fear. Seeing the miserable, tumbledown hut with its smoking chimney, he stopped. "Ah, ha!" cried he. "Here's the journey's end." Then, looking back into the woods and waving his cap, he shouted at the top of his voice: "Come on, Master Wood-cutter. Come on, Master Broom-maker. Here's the Witch's den. Come on!" And Master Wood-cutter and Master Broom-maker came on. But how they came! They slunk out of the woods in fear and trembling, teeth chattering, knees shaking, eyes bulging. They took but one look at the tumbledown hut and then made for the nearest tree, behind which they cowered, shivering from head to toe. "Not so loud! Not so loud! Master Fiddler, please. She may hear you," they protested. "Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha!" laughed the Fiddler. "Don't you want her to hear you? What did you come for, then, pray tell me?" And so he half dragged, half pushed, the two cowardly braggarts toward the Witch's door. "You may knock first," said the polite Broom-maker through his chattering teeth to the Wood-cutter. [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] "No, indeed. You may have the honor," responded the Wood-cutter, and his knees knocked together as he bowed. Since there was no way out of it, the Broom-maker moved toward the door. He tapped once with the knuckle of his forefinger, gently, like a little mouse. Then in a wee, small voice, he said: "Good wife, won't you buy a broom?" No answer came from within the hut. Emboldened by the silence, Master Wood-cutter joined his comrade at the door of the hut. Then he, too, rapped a little bit, just like a penny hammer. "Most honored wise-woman!" he whispered. But no answer came. All was as still as before. "There's no one at home," said both at once. And they strutted boldly to and fro, grinning from ear to ear. "Stand aside!" said the Fiddler. He pushed them away and strode toward the door. With his clenched fist he banged once, twice, thrice. And he lifted his voice. My, what a voice it was! The very woods rang with the sound of it. "Witch! Hag! Foul woman!" he shouted. "Open the door!" There was a moment's silence. But presently the door creaked on its rusty hinges, and there stood the Witch, in all her ugliness, leaning upon a cane. The Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker gave her one glance and then, stricken with terror, they fled as fast as their legs could carry them to the first tree. There they waited, trembling and quaking, to see what the dread creature would do. They would not venture out, no, not they. They had wives and children to care for, and it was no business for men of their kind. No, indeed! Meanwhile the Witch was croaking in her awful voice: "Who comes here to my hut in the woods? Hey, fellows, what do you want?" "What do I want?" mocked the Fiddler, who had bravely stood his ground. Looking at her calmly, he dropped on one knee, with a comical smile: "Ah, fair dame, those red, red eyes and that one yellow tooth of yours have made me sick with love and longing. Listen to my suit, I pray." The Witch looked at him in surprise as he rose to his feet. Could it be that he was not afraid of her? He looked her straight in the eyes, fearless and brave. So she scowled. He smiled. She shook her cane. He laughed. Well! Well! Her magic was powerless against a man like that. Let him tell his tale and be gone. So it came to pass that the Fiddler called the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker and bade them state their business. But they bobbed and scraped and hemmed and hawed and chattered and giggled so long that the Fiddler had to come to the rescue. The King of the World of Men had died, and since the King's Son had run away and could not be found, there was no one to rule the town of Hellabrun. So the people had sent the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker to ask the Wise- Witch what was to be done. They wanted a ruler straightway and did not know where to find one. The Witch pondered long, frowning savagely. Then she told the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker to go back and tell the people that the first person who knocked at the town gate at noon on the morrow would be worthy to wear the crown. Pleased with this prophecy the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker hurried away through the grim forest toward the town of Hellabrun in the World of Men. But the Fiddler did not go. He had caught a glimpse of a golden head and a pair of blue eyes at the window; and the sight of one so fair in such a hut told him that there was work for him to do here. "Why do you stay?" snarled the Witch. The Fiddler gave her a sharp glance. "I'm setting a snare for the little golden bird that you keep in the hut." The Witch started. She clenched her fist wrathfully, but her eyes fell before his steady glance. "Let out the golden bird," sang the Fiddler, cheerily, "or I will go in, I will go in." The Witch looked this way and that. She could not meet his eyes. Muttering savagely, she hobbled toward the door. A moment later she dragged forth the trembling Goosegirl. [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] The Fiddler was amazed. Such beauty! Such pride! She was fit to sit upon a throne! "Who are you, maiden?" he asked. "And how came you here?" Slowly and sadly the words fell from the Goosegirl's lips. She knew not who she was. The Witch had told her to call her "Grandmother." More than that she could not say. The Fiddler's eyes traveled from the Goosegirl to the hideous Witch and back again. This fair maid kin to that foul creature! No, no, it was not possible. As if divining his thought, the Witch wagged her head maliciously and sneered: "No, she is no kin of mine. But worse, far worse. You may know all. A hangman's daughter is she; that's it, a hangman's daughter." "It is not true," shouted the Fiddler. Then turning to the weeping Goosegirl, he cried: "Believe her not. Look at your hands, girl, your white, white hands, and your hair, your golden hair. There's nobility in your face. Believe in yourself, and you will sit beside the King's Son on a throne. Be not afraid. Pray, girl, pray!" The Goosegirl fell upon her knees and lifted her eyes to heaven. Her voice rose from the depths of her being and cried out to the mother and father whom she had never seen. Her golden hair covered her like a mantle, her face was radiant. Still kneeling, she held her crown of gold toward heaven and prayed to God for help, for guidance, for strength. And as she prayed, a shining star shot from heaven, downward, downward, straight into the lone lily by the door of the hut. The Goosegirl uttered a cry of joy. Putting the crown upon her head, she arose, exclaiming: "I'm free! I'm free! I'm free!" Then, followed by her geese and the Fiddler, she rushed into the grim wood toward the World of Men. III When morning dawned and the grim wood with all its terrors lay behind the King's Son, he came at last to the town of Hellabrun in the World of Men. Weary and footsore, faint from hunger and thirst, yet dauntless still, he stopped before an inn near the town gate and begged for work. "I would earn an honest penny," he said, "to buy my daily bread. Have you any work for me?" The innkeeper, who was a rough, ill-natured fellow, smiled with contempt as he looked upon the white hands and noble face of the youth before him. So he declared gruffly: "All I need is a swineherd!" "A swineherd!" The voice of the King's Son echoed the loathsome word, while a look of disgust overspread his face. But only for a moment; then, quick as thought, came the vision of the Goosegirl, so sweet and fair despite her humble calling. "All work is noble to those that are of noble mind," thought he. His hand stole to his heart and touched the wreath of white daisies there. "I will be your swineherd," he answered sturdily. Then he seated himself beneath a tree to await the orders of the innkeeper. Now it happened to be a day of great excitement in Hellabrun, and as the morning wore away, a chattering, restless crowd of people—men, women, and even little children—assembled in the market place. With eager eyes they scanned the two soldiers who, armed with long spears, stood on guard before the closed and barred town gate. There were lean men and fat men; men in rich clothes and men in rags. There were tinkers and tailors, soldiers and sailors, and their wives and their sweethearts. Here were wise doctors in black gowns, there gray-bearded counselors leaning upon canes. Wee babes in arms crowed and laughed, boys romped, girls danced. And all awaited the noontide hour and the coming of their King. "Will he ride upon a snow-white charger?" asked one. "Nay, he will be carried aloft, seated upon a golden throne," replied another. "His robes will be of richest velvet," said a third. "And a jeweled crown will be upon his head," said a fourth. "Perhaps a beautiful queen with ropes of pearls about her neck will sit upon the throne at his side," ventured a fifth. "Tell us again what the Wise-Witch promised," called one from the crowd to the Wood-cutter and the Broom-maker, who were strutting proudly to and fro. [19] [20] [21] [22] Nothing loath, Master Broom-maker and Master Wood-cutter pushed their way to the front of the admiring crowd. Then they stood with heads high, chests stuck out, feet wide apart and arms waving, and told their story for the fiftieth time. And since with each telling the story had grown and grown, it was a marvelous tale, indeed. They told of the grim forest and the many dangers through which they had passed before they arrived at the Witch's den. "The woods were full of lions and tigers," said the Wood-cutter. "But I felled every one with one mighty blow of my broom," said the Broom-maker. "And an ogre with fiery eyes sat behind each tree; and a dragon snorting steam held guard before the den of the Witch. But we feared them not. We slew them all. We went so boldly forward that the Witch quaked and hid herself in fear when she saw us coming." "'Tis not truth that you speak," cried out a young voice, and the crowd fell back amazed at the sight of the King's Son. Who was this ragged fellow who dared to interrupt the thrilling story? Down with him! And they beat him with their sticks and pelted him with stones and called him names. But just as they were about to drive him from the market place the town clock struck the hour. A sudden hush fell upon the crowd. The people stood still. With eager, expectant faces turned toward the gate they waited, while the bell pealed forth its twelve long notes. Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong! It was noon! The guards pulled out the long bolts. An excited murmur came from the crowd. Then all was still, as still as before. The guards turned the huge knobs. The door swung on its hinges, and there stood—a Goosegirl and her flock of geese. Her feet were bare. Her dress was tattered and torn. But her shining hair covered her like a mantle, and a golden crown was upon her head. Her cheeks were red. Her eyes, glowing as from an inner light, sought among the sea of faces, and found that of the King's Son alone. Then, with arms outstretched, she walked slowly toward him, crying softly: "I have come to be your Queen." Queen! The breathless crowd stared in amazement one moment longer. Then the amazement gave way to laughter, the laughter to anger, the anger to fury. "Ha-ha-ha! This is no queen!" they shouted angrily. "We have been fooled. This is only a Goosegirl. Strike her! Beat her!" The King's Son enfolded the Goosegirl in his arms. "Stop!" he cried to the mob. "I am a King's Son, and she is my Queen." "Listen to the ragged fellow!" shouted the people. "He says he is a King's Son! Ha-ha-ha! Stone them! Hit them! A Swineherd! A Goosegirl! Drive them out! Out! Out!" And so the King's Son and the Goosegirl were driven away from the town of Hellabrun, and the angry people returned in disappointment to their homes. Only one little pure-hearted girl lingered at the town gate and gazed with eyes of faith after the fleeing pair. When she could see them no longer, she fell upon the ground and wept and wept. "Why do you cry, little girl?" she was asked. "Oh, that was the King," she sobbed—"the King and his bride." IV During all the long summer days the King's Son and the Goosegirl wandered over hill and dale, through field and forest, far away from the World of Men. And the King's Son shielded the Goosegirl with his love and brought her berries to eat and the skins of wild animals to rest upon, and was gentle, oh, very gentle! And the Goosegirl made the King's Son glad with the sight of her beauty and the sound of her light-hearted laughter. And they were happy with a happiness that surpassed all that they had ever felt or dreamed. 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 [23] [24] [25] [26] [27] [28] 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 [29] [30] [31] [32] [33] [34] [35] 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 [36] [37] [38] [39] [40] 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 [41] [42] [43] [44] [45] 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. [46] [47] [48] [49] [50] 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: [51] [52] [53] [54] [55] "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. "Though a man's lot be humble," they said, "his thoughts may be rich in fancy; he may have a song to sing." So they formed a guild devoted to the cultivation of poetry and music, and the members of this guild were called Master Singers. Every man who wished to enter the guild was obliged to write some verses,—according to the rules of the guild; and to compose appropriate music for those verses,—according to the rules of the guild; and, finally, to sing them both together,—according to the rules of the guild. Then if the masters approved of his performance, he became one of the Master Singers of Nuremberg. And great was the honor conferred upon him when he reached this high estate! Many had tried, but few had been chosen. Indeed, the entire guild was composed of but twelve members. These were, for the most part, worthy men, devoted to their trades and to music. And each one had a boy apprenticed to him, to whom he taught cobbling or soap-making or baking or tailoring by day, and the Art of Song by night. Among the Master Singers of Nuremberg none is better remembered than Hans Sachs. He was a cobbler by trade and a poet by nature, and his songs and verses have outlived his boots by many a year. It is of his part in a song festival of the Master Singers hundreds of years ago that our story has to tell. II It began on the day before the feast of St. John in St. Catherine's Church, which was really not the proper place for a love affair to begin at all. But what did Eva Pogner or Sir Walter von Stolzing care for that? The only thing that mattered to them was the joyous Springtime which had stolen in through the open chancel window and had warmed their hearts toward everything in the world,—but most of all toward each other. Sir Walter stood leaning against a great stone pillar at the back of the church. He wore a blue velvet suit, his hat had a long white plume, and he was as handsome a young knight as one could ever wish to see. Pretty Eva sat in the last pew with her maid Magdalena by her side. Her head was bent, and her eyes were upon her [56] [57] [58] [59] [60] [61] prayer book, as befitted a modest maiden. Still she saw Sir Walter very plainly. In fact, somehow, she caught every message that his dark eyes sent across the church. And her cheeks turned rosy, and her heart grew warmer than ever the Springtime had made it. Indeed, those glances so confused her that she lost her p...