CHAPTER I

HOW THE AGRICULTURAL SYSTEM OF THE BLACK BROTHERS WAS INTERFERED WITH

BY SOUTHWEST WIND, ESQUIRE

In a secluded and mountainous part of Stiria there was in old time a

valley of the most surprising and luxuriant fertility. It was

surrounded on all sides by steep and rocky mountains rising into peaks

which were always covered with snow and from which a number of torrents

descended in constant cataracts. One of these fell westward over the

face of a crag so high that when the sun had set to everything else,

and all below was darkness, his beams still shone full upon this

waterfall, so that it looked like a shower of gold. It was therefore

called by the people of the neighborhood the Golden River. It was

strange that none of these streams fell into the valley itself. They

all descended on the other side of the mountains and wound away through

broad plains and by populous cities. But the clouds were drawn so

constantly to the snowy hills, and rested so softly in the circular

hollow, that in time of drought and heat, when all the country round

was burned up, there was still rain in the little valley; and its crops

were so heavy, and its hay so high, and its apples so red, and its

grapes so blue, and its wine so rich, and its honey so sweet, that it

was a marvel to everyone who beheld it and was commonly called the

Treasure Valley.

The whole of this little valley belonged to three brothers, called

Schwartz, Hans, and Gluck. Schwartz and Hans, the two elder brothers,

were very ugly men, with overhanging eyebrows and small, dull eyes

which were always half shut, so that you couldn't see into THEM and

always fancied they saw very far into YOU. They lived by farming the

Treasure Valley, and very good farmers they were. They killed

everything that did not pay for its eating. They shot the blackbirds

because they pecked the fruit, and killed the hedgehogs lest they

should suck the cows; they poisoned the crickets for eating the crumbs

in the kitchen, and smothered the cicadas which used to sing all summer

in the lime trees. They worked their servants without any wages till

they would not work any more, and then quarreled with them and turned

them out of doors without paying them. It would have been very odd if

with such a farm and such a system of farming they hadn't got very

rich; and very rich they DID get. They generally contrived to keep

their corn by them till it was very dear, and then sell it for twice

its value; they had heaps of gold lying about on their floors, yet it

was never known that they had given so much as a penny or a crust in

charity; they never went to Mass, grumbled perpetually at paying

tithes, and were, in a word, of so cruel and grinding a temper as to

receive from all those with whom they had any dealings the nickname of

the "Black Brothers."

The youngest brother, Gluck, was as completely opposed, in both

appearance and character, to his seniors as could possibly be imagined

or desired. He was not above twelve years old, fair, blue-eyed, and

kind in temper to every living thing. He did not, of course, agree

particularly well with his brothers, or, rather, they did not agree

with HIM. He was usually appointed to the honorable office of

turnspit, when there was anything to roast, which was not often, for,

to do the brothers justice, they were hardly less sparing upon

themselves than upon other people. At other times he used to clean the

shoes, floors, and sometimes the plates, occasionally getting what was

left on them, by way of encouragement, and a wholesome quantity of dry

blows by way of education.

Things went on in this manner for a long time. At last came a very wet

summer, and everything went wrong in the country round. The hay had

hardly been got in when the haystacks were floated bodily down to the

sea by an inundation; the vines were cut to pieces with the hail; the

corn was all killed by a black blight. Only in the Treasure Valley, as

usual, all was safe. As it had rain when there was rain nowhere else,

so it had sun when there was sun nowhere else. Everybody came to buy

corn at the farm and went away pouring maledictions on the Black

Brothers. They asked what they liked and got it, except from the poor

people, who could only beg, and several of whom were starved at their

very door without the slightest regard or notice.

It was drawing towards winter, and very cold weather, when one day the

two elder brothers had gone out, with their usual warning to little

Gluck, who was left to mind the roast, that he was to let nobody in and

give nothing out. Gluck sat down quite close to the fire, for it was

raining very hard and the kitchen walls were by no means dry or

comfortable-looking. He turned and turned, and the roast got nice and

brown. "What a pity," thought Gluck, "my brothers never ask anybody to

dinner. I'm sure, when they've got such a nice piece of mutton as

this, and nobody else has got so much as a piece of dry bread, it would

do their hearts good to have somebody to eat it with them."

Just as he spoke there came a double knock at the house door, yet heavy

and dull, as though the knocker had been tied up--more like a puff than

a knock.

"It must be the wind," said Gluck; "nobody else would venture to knock

double knocks at our door."

No, it wasn't the wind; there it came again very hard, and, what was

particularly astounding, the knocker seemed to be in a hurry and not to

be in the least afraid of the consequences. Gluck went to the window,

opened it, and put his head out to see who it was.

It was the most extraordinary-looking little gentleman he had ever seen

in his life. He had a very large nose, slightly brass-colored; his

cheeks were very round and very red, and might have warranted a

supposition that he had been blowing a refractory fire for the last

eight-and-forty hours; his eyes twinkled merrily through long, silky

eyelashes; his mustaches curled twice round like a corkscrew on each

side of his mouth; and his hair, of a curious mixed pepper-and-salt

color, descended far over his shoulders. He was about four feet six in

height and wore a conical pointed cap of nearly the same altitude,

decorated with a black feather some three feet long. His doublet was

prolonged behind into something resembling a violent exaggeration of

what is now termed a "swallowtail," but was much obscured by the

swelling folds of an enormous black, glossy-looking cloak, which must

have been very much too long in calm weather, as the wind, whistling

round the old house, carried it clear out from the wearer's shoulders

to about four times his own length.

Gluck was so perfectly paralyzed by the singular appearance of his

visitor that he remained fixed without uttering a word, until the old

gentleman, having performed another and a more energetic concerto on

the knocker, turned round to look after his flyaway cloak. In so doing

he caught sight of Gluck's little yellow head jammed in the window,

with its mouth and eyes very wide open indeed.

"Hollo!" said the little gentleman; "that's not the way to answer the

door. I'm wet; let me in."

To do the little gentleman justice, he WAS wet. His feather hung down

between his legs like a beaten puppy's tail, dripping like an umbrella,

and from the ends of his mustaches the water was running into his

waistcoat pockets and out again like a mill stream.

"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck, "I'm very sorry, but, I really can't."

"Can't what?" said the old gentleman.

"I can't let you in, sir--I can't, indeed; my brothers would beat me to

death, sir, if I thought of such a thing. What do you want, sir?"

"Want?" said the old gentleman petulantly. "I want fire and shelter,

and there's your great fire there blazing, crackling, and dancing on

the walls with nobody to feel it. Let me in, I say; I only want to

warm myself."

Gluck had had his head, by this time, so long out of the window that he

began to feel it was really unpleasantly cold, and when he turned and

saw the beautiful fire rustling and roaring and throwing long, bright

tongues up the chimney, as if it were licking its chops at the savory

smell of the leg of mutton, his heart melted within him that it should

be burning away for nothing. "He does look very wet," said little

Gluck; "I'll just let him in for a quarter of an hour." Round he went

to the door and opened it; and as the little gentleman walked in, there

came a gust of wind through the house that made the old chimneys totter.

"That's a good boy," said the little gentleman. "Never mind your

brothers. I'll talk to them."

"Pray, sir, don't do any such thing," said Gluck. "I can't let you

stay till they come; they'd be the death of me."

"Dear me," said the old gentleman, "I'm very sorry to hear that. How

long may I stay?"

"Only till the mutton's done, sir," replied Gluck, "and it's very

brown."

Then the old gentleman walked into the kitchen and sat himself down on

the hob, with the top of his cap accommodated up the chimney, for it

was a great deal too high for the roof.

"You'll soon dry there, sir," said Gluck, and sat down again to turn

the mutton. But the old gentleman did NOT dry there, but went on drip,

drip, dripping among the cinders, and the fire fizzed and sputtered and

began to look very black and uncomfortable. Never was such a cloak;

every fold in it ran like a gutter.

"I beg pardon, sir," said Gluck at length, after watching the water

spreading in long, quicksilver-like streams over the floor for a

quarter of an hour; "mayn't I take your cloak?"

"No, thank you," said the old gentleman.

"Your cap, sir?"

"I am all right, thank you," said the old gentleman rather gruffly.

"But--sir--I'm very sorry," said Gluck hesitatingly, "but--really,

sir--you're--putting the fire out."

"It'll take longer to do the mutton, then," replied his visitor dryly.

Gluck was very much puzzled by the behavior of his guest; it was such a

strange mixture of coolness and humility. He turned away at the string

meditatively for another five minutes.

"That mutton looks very nice," said the old gentleman at length.

"Can't you give me a little bit?"

"Impossible, sir," said Gluck.

"I'm very hungry," continued the old gentleman. "I've had nothing to

eat yesterday nor to-day. They surely couldn't miss a bit from the

knuckle!"

He spoke in so very melancholy a tone that it quite melted Gluck's

heart. "They promised me one slice to-day, sir," said he; "I can give

you that, but not a bit more."

"That's a good boy," said the old gentleman again.

Then Gluck warmed a plate and sharpened a knife. "I don't care if I do

get beaten for it," thought he. Just as he had cut a large slice out

of the mutton there came a tremendous rap at the door. The old

gentleman jumped off the hob as if it had suddenly become

inconveniently warm. Gluck fitted the slice into the mutton again,

with desperate efforts at exactitude, and ran to open the door.

"What did you keep us waiting in the rain for?" said Schwartz, as he

walked in, throwing his umbrella in Gluck's face.

"Aye! what for, indeed, you little vagabond?" said Hans, administering

an educational box on the ear as he followed his brother into the

kitchen.

"Bless my soul!" said Schwartz when he opened the door.

"Amen," said the little gentleman, who had taken his cap off and was

standing in the middle of the kitchen, bowing with the utmost possible

velocity.

"Who's that?" said Schwartz, catching up a rolling-pin and turning to

Gluck with a fierce frown.

"I don't know, indeed, brother," said Gluck in great terror.

"How did he get in?" roared Schwartz.

"My dear brother," said Gluck deprecatingly, "he was so VERY wet!"

The rolling-pin was descending on Gluck's head, but, at the instant,

the old gentleman interposed his conical cap, on which it crashed with

a shock that shook the water out of it all over the room. What was

very odd, the rolling-pin no sooner touched the cap than it flew out of

Schwartz's hand, spinning like a straw in a high wind, and fell into

the corner at the further end of the room.

"Who are you, sir?" demanded Schwartz, turning upon him. "What's your

business?" snarled Hans.

"I'm a poor old man, sir," the little gentleman began very modestly,

"and I saw your fire through the window and begged shelter for a

quarter of an hour."

"Have the goodness to walk out again, then," said Schwartz. "We've

quite enough water in our kitchen without making it a drying house."

"It is a cold day to turn an old man out in, sir; look at my gray

hairs." They hung down to his shoulders, as I told you before.

"Aye!" said Hans; "there are enough of them to keep you warm. Walk!"

"I'm very, very hungry, sir; couldn't you spare me a bit of bread

before I go?"

"Bread, indeed!" said Schwartz; "do you suppose we've nothing to do

with our bread but to give it to such red-nosed fellows as you?"

"Why don't you sell your feather?" said Hans sneeringly. "Out with you!"

"A little bit," said the old gentleman.

"Be off!" said Schwartz.

"Pray, gentlemen."

"Off, and be hanged!" cried Hans, seizing him by the collar. But he

had no sooner touched the old gentleman's collar than away he went

after the rolling-pin, spinning round and round till he fell into the

corner on the top of it. Then Schwartz was very angry and ran at the

old gentleman to turn him out; but he also had hardly touched him when

away he went after Hans and the rolling-pin, and hit his head against

the wall as he tumbled into the corner. And so there they lay, all

three.

Then the old gentleman spun himself round with velocity in the opposite

direction, continued to spin until his long cloak was all wound neatly

about him, clapped his cap on his head, very much on one side (for it

could not stand upright without going through the ceiling), gave an

additional twist to his corkscrew mustaches, and replied with perfect

coolness: "Gentlemen, I wish you a very good morning. At twelve

o'clock tonight I'll call again; after such a refusal of hospitality as

I have just experienced, you will not be surprised if that visit is the

last I ever pay you."

"If ever I catch you here again," muttered Schwartz, coming, half

frightened, out of the corner--but before he could finish his sentence

the old gentleman had shut the house door behind him with a great bang,

and there drove past the window at the same instant a wreath of ragged

cloud that whirled and rolled away down the valley in all manner of

shapes, turning over and over in the air and melting away at last in a

gush of rain.

"A very pretty business, indeed, Mr. Gluck!" said Schwartz. "Dish the

mutton, sir. If ever I catch you at such a trick again--bless me, why,

the mutton's been cut!"

"You promised me one slice, brother, you know," said Gluck.

"Oh! and you were cutting it hot, I suppose, and going to catch all the

gravy. It'll be long before I promise you such a thing again. Leave

the room, sir; and have the kindness to wait in the coal cellar till I

call you."

Gluck left the room melancholy enough. The brothers ate as much mutton

as they could, locked the rest in the cupboard, and proceeded to get

very drunk after dinner.

Such a night as it was! Howling wind and rushing rain, without

intermission. The brothers had just sense enough left to put up all

the shutters and double-bar the door before they went to bed. They

usually slept in the same room. As the clock struck twelve they were

both awakened by a tremendous crash. Their door burst open with a

violence that shook the house from top to bottom.

"What's that?" cried Schwartz, starting up in his bed.

"Only I," said the little gentleman.

The two brothers sat up on their bolster and stared into the darkness.

The room was full of water, and by a misty moonbeam, which found its

way through a hole in the shutter, they could see in the midst of it an

enormous foam globe, spinning round and bobbing up and down like a

cork, on which, as on a most luxurious cushion, reclined the little old

gentleman, cap and all. There was plenty of room for it now, for the

roof was off.

"Sorry to incommode you," said their visitor ironically. "I'm afraid

your beds are dampish. Perhaps you had better go to your brother's

room; I've left the ceiling on there."

They required no second admonition, but rushed into Gluck's room, wet

through and in an agony of terror.

"You'll find my card on the kitchen table," the old gentleman called

after them. "Remember, the LAST visit."

"Pray Heaven it may!" said Schwartz, shuddering. And the foam globe

disappeared.

Dawn came at last, and the two brothers looked out of Gluck's little

window in the morning. The Treasure Valley was one mass of ruin and

desolation. The inundation had swept away trees, crops, and cattle,

and left in their stead a waste of red sand and gray mud. The two

brothers crept shivering and horror-struck into the kitchen. The water

had gutted the whole first floor; corn, money, almost every movable

thing, had been swept away, and there was left only a small white card

on the kitchen table. On it, in large, breezy, long-legged letters,

were engraved the words:

SOUTH WEST WIND, ESQUIRE