 Section 22 of the Junior Classics, Volume 6, Old Fashioned Tales. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Jeffrey Wilson Ames, Iowa. The Junior Classics, Volume 6, Old Fashioned Tales. The Great Stone Face by Nathaniel Hawthorne One afternoon when the sun was going down, a mother and her little boy sat at the door of their cottage, talking about the Great Stone Face. They had but to lift their eyes and there it was plainly to be seen, though miles away with the sunshine brightening all its features. And what was the Great Stone Face? Embosomed among a family of lofty mountains, there was a valley so spacious that it contained many thousand inhabitants. Some of these good people dwelt in log huts with the black forest all around them on the steep and difficult hillsides. Others had their homes in comfortable farmhouses and cultivated the rich soil on the gentle slopes or level surfaces of the valley. Others, again, were congregated into populous villages where some wild highland rivulet tumbling down from its birthplace in the upper mountain region had been caught and tamed by human cunning and compelled to turn the machinery of cotton factories. The inhabitants of this valley, in short, were numerous and of many modes of life. But all of them, grown people and children, had a kind of familiarity with the Great Stone Face, although some possessed the gift of distinguishing this grand natural phenomenon more perfectly than many of their neighbors. The Great Stone Face, then, was a work of nature in her mood of majestic playfulness, formed on the perpendicular side of a mountain by some immense rocks which had been thrown together in such a position as, when viewed at a proper distance, precisely to resemble the features of the human countenance. It seemed as if an enormous giant or a titan had sculptured his own likeness on the precipice. There was the broad arch of the forehead, a hundred feet in height, the nose with its long bridge, and the vast lips, which, if they could have spoken, would have rolled their thunder accents from one end of the valley to the other. True it is that if the spectator approached too near, he lost the outline of the gigantic visage and could discern only a heap of ponderous and gigantic rocks piled in chaotic ruin one upon another. Retracing his steps, however, the wondrous features would again be seen, and the further he withdrew from them, the more like a human face with all its original divinity intact did they appear. Until, as it grew dim in the distance, with the clouds and glorified vapor of the mountains clustering about it, the great stone face seemed positively to be alive. It was a happy lot for children to grow up to manhood or womanhood with the great stone face before their eyes, for all the features were noble, and the expression was at once grand and sweet, as if it were the glow of a vast warm heart that embraced all mankind in its affections and had room for more. It was an education only to look at it. According to the belief of many people, the valley owed much of its fertility to this benign aspect that was continually beaming over it, illuminating the clouds and infusing its tenderness into the sunshine. As we began with saying, a mother and her little boy sat at their cottage door, gazing at the great stone face and talking about it. The child's name was Ernest. Mother, said he, while the titanic visage smiled on him, I wish that it could speak, for it looks so very kindly that its voice must needs be pleasant. If I were to see a man with such a face, I should love him dearly. If an old prophecy should come to pass, answered his mother, we may see a man some time or other with exactly such a face as that. What prophecy do you mean, dear mother? eagerly inquired Ernest. Pray tell me all about it. So his mother told him a story that her own mother had told to her when she herself was younger than little Ernest. A story not of things that were past, but of what was yet to come. A story nevertheless so very old that even the Indians, who formerly inhabited this valley, had heard it from their forefathers, to whom, as they affirmed, it had been murmured by the mountain streams and whispered by the wind among the treetops. The purport was that, at some future day, a child should be born hereabouts who was destined to become the greatest and noblest personage of his time and whose countenance in manhood should bear an exact resemblance to the great stone face. Not a few old-fashioned people and young ones likewise in the ardour of their hopes still cherished an enduring faith in this old prophecy. But others who had seen more of the world had watched and waited till they were weary and had beheld no man with such a face nor any man that proved to be much greater or nobler than his neighbours concluded it to be nothing but an idle tale. At all events the great man of the prophecy had not yet appeared. Oh mother, dear mother, cried Ernest, clapping his hands above his head, I do hope that I shall live to see him. His mother was an affectionate and thoughtful woman and felt that it was wisest not to discourage the generous hopes of her little boy. So she only said to him, perhaps you may, and Ernest never forgot the story that his mother told him. It was always in his mind whenever he looked upon the great stone face. He spent his childhood in the log cottage where he was born and was dutiful to his mother and helpful to her in many things, assisting her much with his little hands and more with his loving heart. In this manner, from a happy yet often pensive child, he grew up to be a mild, quiet, unobtrusive boy and sun-brown with labour in the fields, but with more intelligence brightening his aspect than is seen in many lads who have been taught at famous schools. Yet Ernest had had no teacher save only that the great stone face became one to him. When the toil of day was over, he would gaze at it for hours until he began to imagine that those vast features recognised him and gave him a smile of kindness and encouragement responsive to his own look of veneration. We must not take upon us to affirm that this was a mistake, although the face may have looked no more kindly at Ernest than at all the world besides. But the secret was that the boy's tender and confiding simplicity discerned what other people could not see, and thus the love which was meant for all became his peculiar portion. About this time there went a rumour throughout the valley that the great man foretold from ages ago who was to bear a resemblance to the great stone face had appeared at last. It seems that many years before a young man had migrated from the valley and settled at a distant seaport where, after getting together a little money, he had set up as a shopkeeper. His name, but I could never learn whether it was his real one or a nickname that had grown out of his habits and success in life, was Gathergold. Being shrewd and active and endowed by Providence with that inscrutable faculty which develops itself in what the world calls luck, he became an exceedingly rich merchant and owner of a whole fleet of bulky bottomed chips. All the countries of the globe appeared to join hands for the mere purpose of adding heap after heap to the mountainous accumulation of this one man's wealth. The cold regions of the North, almost within the gloom and shadow of the Arctic Circle, sent him their tribute in the shape of furs. Hot Africa sifted for him the golden sands of her rivers and gathered up the ivory tusks of her great elephants out of the forests. The East came bringing him the rich shawls and spices and teas and the effulgence of diamonds and the gleaming purity of large pearls. The ocean, not to be behindhand with the earth, yielded up her mighty whales that Mr. Gathergold might sell their oil and make a profit on it. Be the original commodity what it might, it was gold within his grasp. It might be said of him, as of Midas in the fable, that whatever he touched with his finger immediately glistened and grew yellow and was changed at once into sterling metal or, which suited him still better, into piles of coin. Indeed when Mr. Gathergold had become so very rich that it would have taken him a hundred years only to count his wealth, he bethought himself of his native valley and resolved to go back thither and end his days where he was born. With this purpose in view, he sent a skillful architect to build him such a palace as should be fit for a man of his vast wealth to live in. As I have said above, it had already been rumored in the valley that Mr. Gathergold had turned out to be the prophetic personage so long and vainly looked for and that his visage was the perfect and undeniable similitude of the great stone face. People were the more ready to believe that this must needs be the fact when they beheld the splendid edifice that rose as if by enchantment on the sight of his father's old weather-beaten farmhouse. The exterior was of marble, so dazzlingly white that it seemed as though the whole structure might melt away in the sunshine, like those humbler ones which Mr. Gathergold, in his young play days before his fingers were gifted with the touch of transmutation, had been accustomed to build of snow. It had a richly ornamented portico, supported by tall pillars beneath which was a lofty door studded with silver knobs and made of a kind of variegated wood that had been brought from beyond the sea. The windows from the floor to the ceiling of each stately apartment were composed respectively of but one enormous pane of glass, so transparently pure that it was said to be a finer medium than even the vacant atmosphere. Hardly anybody had been permitted to see the interior of this palace, but it was reported, and with good semblance of truth, to be far more gorgeous than the outside, in so much that whatever was iron or brass in other houses was silver or gold in this. And Mr. Gathergold's bedchamber, especially, made such a glittering appearance that no ordinary man would have been able to close his eyes there. But on the other hand, Mr. Gathergold was now so enured to wealth that perhaps he could not have closed his eyes unless where the gleam of it was certain to find its way beneath his eyelids. In due time the mansion was finished. Next came the upholsterers with magnificent furniture, then a whole troop of black and white servants, the harbingers of Mr. Gathergold, who in his own majestic person was expected to arrive at sunset. Our friend Ernest, meanwhile, had been deeply stirred by the idea that the great man, the noble man, the man of prophecy after so many ages of delay, was at length to be made manifest to his native valley. He knew, boy as he was, that there were a thousand ways in which Mr. Gathergold, with his vast wealth, might transform himself into an angel of beneficence, and assume a control over human affairs as wide and benignant as the smile of the great stone face. Full of faith and hope, Ernest doubted not that what the people said was true, and that now he was to behold the living likeness of those wondrous features on the mountainside. While the boy was still gazing up the valley, and fancying as he always did, that the great stone face returned his gaze and looked kindly at him, the rumbling of wheels was heard, approaching swiftly along the winding road. Here he comes! cried the group of people who were assembled to witness the arrival. Here comes the great Mr. Gathergold! A carriage, drawn by four horses, dashed round the turn of the road. Within it, thrust partly out of the window, appeared the physiognomy of a little old man, with his skin as yellow as if his own Midas hand had transmuted it. He had a low forehead, small, sharp eyes, puckered about with enumerable wrinkles, and very thin lips, which he made still thinner by pressing them forcibly together. The very image of the great stone face, shouted the people, sure enough, the old prophecy is true, and here we have the great man come at last. And what greatly perplexed Ernest, they seemed actually to believe that here was the likeness which they spoke of. By the roadside there chanced to be an old beggar woman and two little beggar children, stragglers from some far off region, who as the carriage rolled onward, held out their hands and lifted up their doleful voices, most pitiously beseeching charity. A yellow claw, the very same that had clawed together so much wealth, poked itself out of the coach window, and dropped some copper coins upon the ground, so that, though the great man's name seems to have been gather gold, he might just as suitably have been nicknamed scatter copper. Still, nevertheless, with an Ernest's chout, and evidently with as much good faith as ever, the people bellowed, he is the very image of the great stone face. But Ernest turned sadly from the wrinkled shrewdness of that sordid visage, and gazed up the valley, where amid a gathering mist, gilded by the last sunbeams, he could still distinguish those glorious features which had impressed themselves into his soul. Their aspect cheered him. What did the benign lip seem to say? He will come. Fear not, Ernest, the man will come. The years went on, and Ernest ceased to be a boy. He had grown to be a young man now. He attracted little notice from the other inhabitants of the valley, for they saw nothing remarkable in his way of life, save that, when the labor of the day was over, he still loved to go apart and gaze and meditate upon the great stone face. According to their idea of the matter, it was a folly, indeed, but pardonable, inasmuch as Ernest was industrious, kind, and neighborly, and neglected no duty for the sake of indulging this idle habit. They knew not that the great stone face had become a teacher to him, and that the sentiment which was expressed in it would enlarge the young man's heart and fill it with wider and deeper sympathies than other hearts. They knew not that thence would come a better wisdom than could be learned from books, and a better life than could be molded on the defaced examples of other human lives. Neither did Ernest know that the thoughts and affections which came to him so naturally in the fields and at the fireside, and wherever he communed with himself, were of a higher tone than those which all men shared with him. A simple soul, simple as when his mother first taught him the old prophecy, he beheld the marvelous features beaming adound the valley, and still wondered that their human counterpart was so long in making his appearance. By this time, poor Mr. Gathergold was dead and buried, and the oddest part of the matter was that his wealth, which was the body and spirit of his existence, had disappeared before his death, leaving nothing of him but a living skeleton covered over with a wrinkled yellow skin. Since the melting away of his gold, it had been very generally conceded that there was no such striking resemblance after all between the ignoble features of the ruined merchant and that majestic face upon the mountainside, so the people ceased to honor him during his lifetime and quietly consigned him to forgetfulness after his decease. Once in a while it is true his memory was brought up in connection with the magnificent palace which he had built and which had long ago been turned into a hotel for the accommodation of strangers, multitudes of whom came every summer to visit that famous natural curiosity, the great stone face. Thus Mr. Gathergold being discredited and thrown into the shade, the man of prophecy was yet to come. It so happened that a native born son of the valley, many years before, had enlisted as a soldier and after a great deal of hard fighting had now become an illustrious commander. Whatever he may be called in history, he was known in camps and on the battlefield under the nickname of old blood and thunder. This war-worn veteran, being now infirm with age and wounds and weary of the turmoil of a military life and of the role of the drum and the clanger of the trumpet that had so long been ringing in his ears, had lately signified a purpose of returning to his native valley, hoping to find repose where he remembered to have left it. The inhabitants, his old neighbors and their grown up children, were resolved to welcome the renowned warrior with a salute of cannon and a public dinner and all the more enthusiastically it being affirmed that now at last the likeness of the great stone face had actually appeared. An aid to camp of old blood and thunder, travelling through the valley, was said to have been struck with the resemblance. Moreover, the schoolmates and early acquaintances of the general were ready to testify on oath that to the best of their recollection, the aforesaid general had been exceedingly like the majestic image, even when a boy, only that the idea had never occurred to them at that period. Great, therefore, was the excitement throughout the valley, and many people who had never once thought of glancing at the great stone face for years before, now spent their time in gazing at it, for the sake of knowing exactly how general blood and thunder looked. On the day of the great festival, Ernest, with all the other people of the valley, left their work, and proceeded to the spot where the Sylvan banquet was prepared. As he approached, the loud voice of the reverend Dr. Battleblast was heard, beseeching a blessing on the good things set before them, and on the distinguished friend of peace in whose honor they were assembled. The tables were arranged in a cleared space of the woods, shut in by the surrounding trees, except where a vista opened eastward, and afforded a distant view of the great stone face. Over the general's chair, which was a relic from the home of Washington, there was an arch of verdant boughs with the laurel perfusely intermixed, and surmounted by his country's banner, beneath which he had won his victories. Our friend Ernest raised himself on his tiptoes in hopes to get a glimpse of the celebrated guest. But there was a mighty crowd about the tables anxious to hear the toasts and speeches, and to catch any word that might fall from the general in reply. And the volunteer company, doing duty as a guard, pricked ruthlessly with their bayonets at any particularly quiet person among the throng. So Ernest, being of an unobtrusive character, was thrust quite into the background, where he could see no more of old blood and thunder's physiognomy than if it had been still blazing on the battlefield. To console himself, he turned toward the great stone face, which, like a faithful and long-remembered friend, looked back and smiled upon him through the vista of the forest. Meantime, however, he could overhear the remarks of various individuals who were comparing the features of the hero with the face on the distant mountainside. Tis the same face to a hair, cried one man, cutting a caper for joy. Wonderfully like, that's a fact, responded another. Like why I call it old blood and thunder himself in a monstrous looking glass, cried a third. And why not? He's the greatest man of this or any other age beyond a doubt, and then all three of the speakers gave a great shout, which communicated electricity to the crowd and called forth a roar from a thousand voices that went reverberating for miles among the mountains, until you might have supposed that the great stone face had poured its thunderbreath into the cry. All these comments and the vast enthusiasm served the more to interest our friend, nor did he think of questioning that now at length the mountain visage had found its human counterpart. It is true, Ernest had imagined that this long-looked-for personage would appear in the character of a man of peace, uttering wisdom and doing good and making people happy. But, taking an habitual breadth of view with all his simplicity, he contended that providence should choose its own method of blessing mankind, and could conceive that this great end might be affected even by a warrior and a bloody sword, should inscrutable wisdom see fit to order matters so. The general, the general, was now the cry. Hush! Silence! Old blood and thunders going to make a speech! Even so, for the cloth being removed, the general's health had been drunk amid shouts of applause, and he now stood upon his feet to thank the company. Ernest saw him. There he was, over the shoulders of the crowd, from the two glittering epaulets and embroidered collar upward, beneath the arch of green boughs with intertwined laurel, and the banner drooping as if to shade his brow. And there, too, visible in the same glance, through the vista of the forest appeared the great stone face, and was there indeed such a resemblance as the crowd had testified? Alas, Ernest could not recognize it. He beheld a war-worn and weather-beaten countenance, full of energy and expressive of an iron will, but the gentle wisdom, the deep, broad, tender sympathies were altogether wanting in old blood and thunders' visage, and even if the great stone face had assumed his look of stern command, the milder traits would still have tempered it. This is not the man of prophecy, sighed Ernest to himself as he made his way out of the throng, and must the world wait longer yet? The mists had congregated about the distant mountainside, and there were seen the grand and awful features of the great stone face, awful but benignant, as if a mighty angel were sitting among the hills and enrobing himself in a cloud-vesture of gold and purple. As he looked, Ernest could hardly believe but that a smile beamed over the whole visage, with a radiant still brightening, although without motion of the lips. It was probably the effect of the western sunshine, melting through the thinly diffused vapors that had swept between him and the object he gazed at, but, as it always did, the aspect of his marvelous friend made Ernest as hopeful as if he had never hoped in vain. Fear not, Ernest, said his heart, even as if the great face were whispering him, fear not, Ernest, he will come. More years sped swiftly and tranquilly away. Ernest still dwelt in his native valley and was now a man of middle age. By imperceptible degrees he had become known among the people. Now, as heretofore, he labored for his bread and was the same simple-hearted man that he had always been. But he had thought and felt so much, he had given so many of the best hours of his life to unworldly hopes for some great good to mankind that it seemed as though he had been talking with the angels and had imbibed a portion of their wisdom unawares. It was visible in the calm and well-considered beneficence of his daily life, the quiet stream of which had made a wide green margin all along its course. Not a day passed by that the world was not the better because this man, humble as he was, had lived. He never stepped aside from his own path, yet would always reach a blessing to his neighbor. Almost involuntarily, too, he had become a preacher. The pure and high simplicity of his thought, which, as one of its manifestations, took shape in the good deeds that dropped silently from his hand, flowed also forth in speech. He uttered truths that wrought upon and molded the lives of those who heard him. His auditors, it may be, never suspected that Ernest, their own neighbor and familiar friend, was more than an ordinary man. Least of all, did Ernest himself suspect it. But inevitably, as the murmur of a rivulet came thoughts out of his mouth that no other human lips had spoken. When the people's minds had had a little time to cool, they were ready enough to acknowledge their mistake in imagining a similarity between general blood and thunders, truculent physiognomy and the benign visage on the mountainside. But now, again, there were reports and many paragraphs in the newspapers affirming that the likeness of the great stone face had appeared upon the broad shoulders of a certain eminent statesman. He, like Mr. Gather Gold and Old Blood and Thunder, was a native of the valley but had left it in his early days and taken up the trades of law and politics. Instead of the rich man's wealth and the warrior's sword, he had but a tongue, and it was mightier than both together. So wonderfully eloquent was he that whatever he might choose to say, his auditors had no choice but to believe him. Wrong looked like right, and right like wrong. For when it pleased him, he could make a kind of illuminated fog with his mere breath and obscure the natural daylight with it. His tongue, indeed, was a magic instrument. Sometimes it rumbled like the thunder, sometimes it warbled like the sweetest music. It was the blast of war, the song of peace, and it seemed to have a heart in it when there was no such matter. In good truth he was a wondrous man, and when his tongue had acquired him all other imaginable success, when it had been heard in halls of state and in the courts of princes and potentates, after it had made him known all over the world, even as a voice crying from shore to shore, it finally persuaded his countrymen to select him for the presidency. Before this time, indeed, as soon as he began to grow celebrated, his admirers had found out the resemblance between him and the great stone face, and so much were they struck by it that throughout the country this distinguished gentleman was known by the name of Old Stony Fizz. The phrase was considered as giving a highly favourable aspect to his political prospects, for as is likewise the case with the Popedom, nobody ever becomes president without taking a name other than his own. While his friends were doing their best to make him president, Old Stony Fizz, as he was called, set out on a visit to the valley where he was born. Of course, he had no other object than to shake hands with his fellow citizens, and neither thought nor cared about any effect which his progress through the country might have upon the election. Magnificent preparations were made to receive the illustrious statesmen, a cavalcade of horsemen set forth to meet him at the boundary line of the state, and all the people left their business and gathered along the wayside to see him pass. Among these was Ernest. Though more than once disappointed as we have seen, he had such a hopeful and confiding nature that he was always ready to believe in whatever seemed beautiful and good. He kept his heart continually open, and thus was sure to catch the blessing from on high when it should come. So now again, as buoyantly as ever, he went forth to behold the likeness of the great stone face. The cavalcade came prancing along the road with a great clattering of hoofs and a mighty cloud of dust, which rose up so dense and high that the visage of the mountainside was completely hidden from Ernest's eyes. All the great men of the neighborhood were there on horseback. Militia officers in uniform, the member of Congress, the sheriff of the county, the editors of newspapers, and many a farmer too, had mounted his patient's steed with his Sunday coat upon his back. It really was a very brilliant spectacle, especially as there were numerous banners flaunting over the cavalcade, on some of which were gorgeous portraits of the illustrious statesmen of the great stone face, smiling familiarly at one another like two brothers. If the pictures were to be trusted, the mutual resemblance it must be confessed was marvelous. We must not forget to mention that there was a band of music which made the echoes of the mountain's ring and reverberate with the loud triumph of its strains, so that airy and soul-thrilling melodies broke out among all the heights and hollows, as if every nook of his native valley had found a voice to welcome the distinguished guest. But the grandest effect was when the far-off mountain precipice flung back the music, the great stone face itself seemed to be swelling the triumphant chorus in acknowledgement that, at length, the man of prophecy was come. All this while, the people were throwing up their hats and shouting, with enthusiasm so contagious that the heart of earnest kindled up and he likewise threw up his hat and shouted as loudly as the loudest, Huzzah for the great man! Huzzah for old stony fizz! But as yet, he had not seen him. Here he is now! cried those who stood near earnest. There! There! Look at old stony fizz, and then at the old man of the mountain and see if they are not as like as two twin brothers. In the midst of all this gallant array came an open barouche drawn by four white horses and in the barouche, with his massive head uncovered, sat the illustrious statesman, old stony fizz himself. Confess it! said one of earnest's neighbours to him. The great stone face has met its match at last. Now it must be owned that, at his first glimpse of the countenance which was bowing and smiling from the barouche, earnest did fancy that there was a resemblance between it and the old familiar face upon the mountainside. The brow, with its massive depth and loftiness, and all the other features indeed were boldly and strongly hewn, as if in emulation of a more than heroic of a titanic model. But the sublimity and stateliness, the grand expression of a divine sympathy that illuminated the mountain visage and etherealized its ponderous granite substance into spirit, might here be sought in vain. Something had been originally left out or had departed, and therefore the marvelously gifted statesman had always a weary gloom in the deep caverns of his eyes as of a child that has outgrown its playthings or a man of mighty faculties and little aims whose life, with all its high performances, was vague and empty because no high purpose had endowed it with reality. Still, Ernest's neighbor was thrusting his elbow into his side and pressing him for an answer. Confess, confess! Is not he the very picture of your old man of the mountain? No, said Ernest Bluntly, I see little or no likeness. Then so much the worse for the great stone face, answered his neighbor. And again he set up a shout for old Stony Fizz. But Ernest turned away, melancholy and almost despondent, for this was the saddest of his disappointments, to behold a man who might have fulfilled the prophecy and had not willed to do so. Meantime the cavalcade, the banners, the music and the barouches swept past him, with the vociferous crowd in the rear, leaving the dust to settle down and the great stone face to be revealed again, with the grandeur that had worn for untold centuries. Lo, here I am, Ernest, the benign lips seem to say, I have waited longer than thou and am not yet weary. Fear not, the man will come. The years hurried onward, treading in their haste on one another's heels, and now they began to bring white hairs and scatter them over the head of Ernest. They made reverent wrinkles across his forehead and furrows in his cheeks. He was an aged man, but not in vain had he grown old. More than the white hairs on his head were the sage's thoughts in his mind. His wrinkles and furrows were inscriptions that time had graved and in which he had written legends of wisdom that had been tested by the tenor of a life. And Ernest had ceased to be obscure. Unsought for, undesired, had come the fame which so many seek and made him known in the great world beyond the limits of the valley in which he had dwelt so quietly. College professors and even the active men of cities came from far to see and converse with Ernest, for the report had gone abroad that this simple husband-men had ideas unlike those of other men, not gained from books but of a higher tone, a tranquil and familiar majesty as if he had been talking with the angels as his daily friends. Whether it were sage, statesman, or philanthropist, Ernest received these visitors with the gentle sincerity that had characterized him from boyhood and spoke freely with them of whatever came uppermost or lay deepest in his heart or their own. While they talked together his face would kindle unawares and shine upon them as with a mild evening light. Pensive with the fullness of such discourse his guests took leave and went their way, and passing up the valley paused to look at the great stone face, imagining that they had seen its likeness in a human countenance but could not remember where. While Ernest had been growing up and growing old a bountiful providence had granted a new poet to this earth. He likewise was a native of the valley but had spent the greater part of his life at a distance from that romantic region, pouring out his sweet music amid the bustle and din of cities. Often, however, did the mountains which had been familiar to him in his childhood lift their snowy peaks into the clear atmosphere of his poetry. Neither was the great stone face forgotten for the poet had celebrated it in an ode which was grand enough to have been uttered by its own majestic lips. This man of genius, we may say, had come down from heaven with wonderful endowments. If he sang of a mountain the eyes of all mankind beheld a mightier grandeur reposing on its breast or soaring to its summit than had before been seen there. If his theme were a lovely lake a celestial smile had now been thrown over it to gleam forever on its surface. If it were the vast old sea even the deep immensity of its dread bosom seemed to swell the higher as if moved by the emotions of the song. Thus the world assumed another and a better aspect from the hour that the poet blessed it with his happy eyes. The creator had bestowed him as the last best touch to his own handiwork. Creation was not finished till the poet came to interpret and so completed. The effect was no less high and beautiful when his human brethren were the subject of his verse. The man or woman, sordid with the common dust of life who crossed his daily path and the little child who played in it were glorified if he beheld them in his mood of poetic faith. He showed the golden links of the great chain that intertwined them with an angelic kindred. He brought out the hidden traits of a celestial birth that made them worthy of such kin. Some indeed there were who thought to show the soundness of their judgment by affirming that all the beauty and dignity of the natural world existed only in the poet's fancy. Let such men speak for themselves who undoubtedly appear to have been spawned forth by nature with the contemptuous bitterness she having plastered them up out of her refuse stuff after all the swine were made. As respects all things else the poet's ideal was the truest truth. The songs of this poet found their way to earnest. He read them after his customary toil where for such a length of time he had filled his repose with thought by gazing at the great stone face. And now as he read stanzas that caused the soul to thrill within him he lifted his eyes to the vast countenance beaming on him so benignantly. Oh majestic friend! He murmured, addressing the great stone face is not this man worthy to resemble thee? The face seemed to smile but answered not a word. Now it happened that the poet though he dwelt so far away he heard of earnest but had meditated much upon his character until he deemed nothing so desirable as to meet this man whose untaught wisdom walked hand in hand with the noble simplicity of his life. One summer morning, therefore, he took passage by the railroad and in the decline of the afternoon alighted from the cars at no great distance from earnest's cottage. The great hotel which had formerly been the palace where Mr. Gathergold was close at hand but the poet with his carpet bag on his arm inquired at once where earnest dwelt and was resolved to be accepted as his guest. Approaching the door he there found the good old man holding a volume in his hand which alternately he read and then with a finger between the leaves looked lovingly at the great stone face. Good evening! said the poet. Can you give a traveller a night's lodging? Willingly, answered earnest, and then he added smiling, he thinks I never saw the great stone face look so hospitably at a stranger. The poet sat down on the bench beside him and he and earnest talked together. Often had the poet held intercourse with the wittiest and the wisest but never before with a man like earnest whose thoughts and feelings gushed up with such a natural freedom and who made great truths so familiar by his simple utterance of them. Angels, as had been so often said, seemed to have wrought with him at his labour in the fields. Angels seemed to have sat with him by the fireside and dwelling with angels as friend with friends he had imbibed the sublimity of their ideas and imbued it with the sweet and lowly charm of household words. So thought the poet, and earnest, on the other hand, was moved and agitated by the living images which the poet flung out of his mind and which peopled all the air about the cottage door with shapes of beauty both gay and pensive. The sympathies of these two men instructed them with a profounder sense than either could have attained alone. Their minds accorded into one strain and made delightful music which neither of them could have claimed as all his own, nor distinguished his own share from the others. They led one another, as it were, into a high pavilion of their thoughts, so remote and hitherto so dim that they had never entered it before and so beautiful that they desired to be there always. As earnest listened to the poet, he imagined that the great stone face was standing forward to listen too. He gazed earnestly into the poet's glowing eyes. Who are you, my strangely gifted guest? He said. The poet laid his finger on the volume that earnest had been reading. You have read these poems, said he. You know me then, for I wrote them. Again and still more earnestly than before, earnest examined the poet's features, looked toward the great stone face, then back with an uncertain aspect to his guest. But his countenance fell. He shook his head and sighed. Wherefore are you sad, inquired the poet? Because, replied earnest, all through life I have awaited the fulfillment of a prophecy, and when I read these poems I hoped that it might be fulfilled in you. You hoped, answered the poet, faintly smiling, to find in me the likeness of the great stone face. And you are disappointed, as formerly with Mr. Gathergold, and old blood and thunder, and old stony fizz. Yes, earnest, it is my doom. You must add my name to the illustrious three and record another failure of your hopes. For, in shame and sadness, do I speak at earnest, I am not worthy to be typified by yonder benign and majestic image. And why, asked earnest, he pointed to the volume, are not those thoughts divine? They have a strain of the divinity, replied the poet, you can hear in them the far-off echo of a heavenly song, but my life, dear earnest, has not corresponded with my thought. I have had grand dreams, but they have been only dreams, because I have lived, and that too, by my own choice, among poor and mean realities. Sometimes even, shall I dare to say it, I lack faith in the grandeur, the beauty, and the goodness, which my own works are said to have made more evident in nature and in human life. Why, then, pure seeker of the good and true, shouldst thou hope to find me in yonder image of the divine? The poet spoke sadly, and his eyes were dim with tears. So likewise were those of earnest. At the hour of sunset, as had long been his frequent custom, earnest was to discourse to an assemblage of the neighbouring inhabitants in the open air. He and the poet, arm in arm, still talking together as they went along, proceeded to the spot. It was a small nook among the hills, with a grey precipice behind, the stern front of which was relieved by the pleasant foliage of many creeping plants, that made a tapestry for the naked rock by hanging their festoons from all its rugged angles. At a small elevation above the ground, set in a rich framework of verger, there appeared a niche, spacious enough to admit a human figure, with freedom for such gestures as spontaneously accompany earnest thought and genuine emotion. Into this natural pulpit, earnest ascended, and threw a look of familiar kindness around upon his audience. They stood, or sat, or reclined upon the grass, as seemed good to each, with the departing sunshine falling obliquely over them, and mingling its subdued cheerfulness with the solemnity of a grove of ancient trees, beneath and amid the boughs of which golden rays were constrained to pass. In another direction was seen the great stone face, with the same cheer, combined with the same solemnity, in its benignant aspect. Ernest began to speak, giving to the people of what was in his heart and mind. His words had power because they accorded with his thoughts, and his thoughts had reality in depth because they harmonized with the life he had always lived. It was not mere breath that this preacher uttered. They were the words of life, because a life of good deeds and holy love was melted into them. Pearls pure and rich had been dissolved into this precious draft. The poet, as he listened, felt that the being and character of Ernest were a nobler strain of poetry than he had ever written. His eyes glistening with tears, he gazed reverentially at the venerable man and said within himself that never was there an aspect so worthy of a prophet and a sage as that mild, sweet, thoughtful countenance, with the glory of white hair diffused about it. At a distance, but distinctly to be seen, high up in the golden light of the setting sun, appeared the great stone face, with hoary mists around it, like the white hairs around the brow of Ernest. Its look of grand beneficence seemed to embrace the world. At that moment, in sympathy with a thought which he was about to utter, the face of Ernest assumed a grandeur of expression so imbued with benevolence that the poet, by an irresistible impulse, threw his arms aloft and shouted, Behold! Behold! Ernest is himself the likeness of the great stone face. Then all the people looked and saw that what the deep-sided poet said was true. The prophecy was fulfilled. But Ernest, having finished what he had to say, took the poet's arm and walked slowly homeward, still hoping that some wiser and better man than himself would by him by appear bearing a resemblance to the great stone face. End of section 22 Recording by Jeffrey Wilson, Ames, Iowa. Section 23 of the Junior Classics, Volume 6, Old Fashioned Tales. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The Junior Classics, Volume 6, Old Fashioned Tales. The King of the Golden River, Part 1, by John Ruskin. In a secluded and mountainous part of Styria, 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 beam 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 a ways 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 burnt 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 plain eyebrows and small dull eyes which were always half shut so that you couldn't see into them and always fancy that 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 and smothered the cicadas which used to sing all summer in the lime trees. They worked their servants without any wages so they would not work anymore 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 but 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 12 years old, fair, blue eyed and kind and tempered 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. Four, 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 around. 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 rained 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 brother has never asked 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 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. He was prolonged behind into something resembling a violent exaggeration of what is now termed a swallow tail 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. A low 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 moustaches 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 petulently I want fire and shelter and there's your great fire there blazing cracking 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 chimney's 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 be 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 quick silver like streams over the floor for a quarter of an hour main tide take your cloak no thank you said the old gentleman your cap sir I'm alright thank you said the old gentleman rather roughly 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 drying 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 today 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 today 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 the plate and sharpened the 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 rapid 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 and exatitude 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 I 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 wrote 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 the 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 I'm a poor old man sir the little gentleman began very modestly and I saw your fire through the window and bagged 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 before I 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 feathers at 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 at old gentleman's collar than away he went after the rolling pin spinning round and round till he fell into the corner on 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 at the rolling pin 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 applied with perfect coolness gentlemen I wish you a very good morning at 12 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 I ever catch you here again mother Schwartz coming half frightened out of the corner but before he could finish his sentence the old gentleman had shut the house 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 dished a mutton sir if I ever 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 cold 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 since enough left to put up all the shutters and double barred the door before they went to bed they usually slept in the same room as the clock struck 12 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 bed only I said the little gentlemen the two brothers sat up on their bolster and stared into the darkness the room was full of water and by a misty moon beam 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 little old gentlemen cap and all there was plenty of room for it now for the roof was off sorry to encomodier said their visitor ironically I'm afraid your beds are dampish perhaps you had better go to your brothers 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 gentlemen called after them remember the last visit pray heaven it may set shorts shuddery 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 grey mud the water's 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 south west wind, Esquire was as good as his word after the momentous visit above related he entered the treasure valley no more and what was worse he had so much influence with his relations the west winds in general and used it so effectually that they all adopted a similar line of conduct so no rain fell in the valley from one year's end to another though everything remained green and flourishing in the plains below the inheritance of the three brothers was a desert what had once been the richest soil in the kingdom became a shifting heap of red sand and the brothers unable longer to contend with the adverse skies abandoned their valueless patrimony in despair to seek some means of gaining a livelihood among the cities and people of the plains all their money was gone and they had nothing left but some curious old fashioned pieces of gold plate the last remnants of their ill-gotten wealth suppose we turn goldsmiths set shorts to haunts as they entered the large city it is a good knave's trade we can put a great deal of copper into the gold without anyone's finding it out the thought was agreed to be a very good one they hired a furnace and turned goldsmiths but two slight circumstances affected their trade the first that people did not approve of the coppered gold the second that the two elder brothers whenever they had sold anything used to leave little gluck to mine the furnace and go and drink out the money in the alehouse next door so they melted all their gold without making money enough to buy more and were at last reduced to one large drinking mug which an uncle of his had given to little gluck and which he was very fond of and would not have parted for the world though he never drank anything out of it milk and water the mug was a very odd mug to look at the handle was formed of two wreaths of flowing golden hair so finely spung that it looked more like silk than metal and these wreaths descended into and mixed with a beard and whiskers of the same exquisite workmanship which surrounded and decorated a very fierce little face of the reddest gold imaginable right in the front of the mug with a pair of eyes in it which seemed to command its whole circumference it was impossible to drink out of the mug without being subjected to an intense gaze out of the side of these eyes and short positively avert that once after emptying it full of renish 17 times he had seen them wink when it came to the mug's turn to be made into spoons it half broke poor little gluck's heart but the brothers only laughed at him they dug into the melting pot and staggered out to the ale house leaving him as usual to pour the gold into the bars when it was all ready when they were gone gluck took a farewell look at his old friend in the melting pot the flowing hair was all gone nothing remained but the red nose and the sparkling eyes which looked more malicious than ever and no wonder thought gluck after being treated in that way he sauntered disconsolidately to the window and sat himself down to catch the fresh evening air and escaped the hot breath of the furnace now this window commanded a direct view of the range of mountains which as I told you before overhung the treasure valley and more especially of the peak from which fell the golden river it was just at the close of the day and when gluck sat down at the window he saw the rocks of the mountain tops all crimson and purple with the sunset and there were bright tongues of fiery cloud burning and quivering about them and the river, brighter than all fell in a waving column of pure gold from precipice to precipice with the double arch of a broad purple rainbow stretched across it flushing and fading alternately in the wreaths of spray ah said gluck aloud after he had looked at it for a while if that river were really all gold what a nice thing it would be no it wouldn't gluck said a clear metallic voice close at his ear bless me what's that? exclaimed gluck jumping up there was nobody there he looked around the room and under the table and a great many times behind him but there was certainly nobody there and he sat down again at the window this time he didn't speak but he couldn't help thinking again that it would be very convenient if the river were really all gold not at all my boy said the same voice louder than before bless me said gluck again what is that? he looked again into all the corners and cupboards and then began turning round and round as fast as he could in the middle of the room thinking there was somebody behind him the same voice struck again on his ear it was singing now very merrily la la lyra la no words only a soft running effervescent melody something like that of a kettle on the boil gluck looked out of the window no it was certainly in the house upstairs and downstairs no it was certainly in that very room coming in quicker time every moment la la lyra la all at once struck gluck that it sounded louder near the furnace he ran to the opening and looked in yes he saw right it seemed to be coming not only out of the furnace but out of the pot he uncovered it and ran back in a great fright for the pot was certainly singing he stood in the farthest corner of the room with his hands up and his mouth open for a minute or two when the singing stopped and the voice became clear and pronunciative hello said the voice gluck made no answer hello gluck my boy said the pot again gluck summoned all his energies walked straight up to the crucible drew it out of the furnace and looked in the gold was all melted and its surface as smooth and polished as a river instead of reflecting little gluck's head as he looked in he saw meeting his glance from beneath the gold the red nose and sharp eyes of his old friend of the monk a thousand times redder and sharper than ever he had seen them in his life come gluck my boy said the voice out of the pot again I'm alright pour me out but gluck was too much astonished to do anything of the kind pour me out I say said the voice rather gruffly still gluck couldn't move will you pour me out said the voice passionately I'm too hot by a violent effort gluck recovered the use of his limbs took hold of the crucible and sloped it so as to pour out the gold but instead of a liquid stream there came out first a pair of pretty little yellow legs then some coat tails then a pair of arms stuck a kimbo and finally the well-known head of his friend the monk all which articles uniting as they rolled out stood up energetically on the floor in the shape of a little golden dwarf about a foot and a half high that's right said the dwarf stretching out first his legs and then his arms and then shaking his head up and down and as far around as it would go for five minutes without stopping apparently with the view of ascertaining if he would quite correctly put together while gluck stood contemplating him in speechless amazement he was dressed in a slashed doublet of spun gold so fine in its texture that the prismatic colors gleamed over it as if on a surface of mother of pearl and over this brilliant doublet his hair and beard fell full halfway to the ground in waving curls so exquisitely delicate that gluck could hardly tell where they ended they seemed to melt into air the features of the face however were by no means finished with the same delicacy they were rather coarse slightly inclining to coppery in complexion and indicative in expression of a very pertenacious and intractable disposition in their small proprietor when the dwarf had finished his self-examination he turned his small sharp eyes full on gluck and stared at him deliberately for a minute or two no it wouldn't gluck my boy said the little man this was certainly rather an abrupt and unconnected mode of commencing conversation it might indeed be supposed to refer to the course of gluck's thoughts which had first produced the dwarf's observations out of the pot but whatever it referred to gluck had no inclination to dispute the dictum wouldn't it sir said gluck very mildly and submissively indeed no said the dwarf conclusively no it wouldn't and with that the dwarf pulled his cap hard over his brows and took two turns of three feet long up and down the room lifting his legs up very high and setting them down very hard this pause gave time for gluck to collect his thoughts a little and seeing no great reason to view his diminutive visitor with dread and feeling his curiosity overcome his amazement he ventured on a question of peculiar delicacy pray sir said gluck rather hesitatingly were you my mug on which the little man turned sharp round walk straight up to gluck and drew himself up to his full height I said the little man am the king of the golden river whereupon he turned about again and took two more turns some six feet long in order to allow time for the consternation which this announcement produced in his auditor to evaporate after which he again walked up to gluck and stood still as if expecting some comment on his communication gluck determined to say something at all events I hope your majesty is very well said gluck listen said the little man daining no reply to this polite inquiry I am the king of what you mortals called the golden river the shape you saw me in was owing to the malice of a stronger king from whose enchantments you have this instant freed me what I have seen of you and your conduct to your wicked brothers renders me willing to serve you therefore attend to what I tell you whoever shall climb to the top of the mountain from which you see the golden river issue and shall cast into the stream at its source three drops of holy water for him and for him only the river shall turn to gold but no one failing in his first can succeed in a second attempt and if anyone shall cast unholy water into the river it will overwhelm him and he will become a black stone so saying the king of the golden river turned away and deliberately walked into the center of the hottest flame of the furnace his figure became red white transparent dazzling a blaze of intense light rose trembled and disappeared the king of the golden river had evaporated oh cried poor gluck ready to look up the chimney after him oh dear dear me my mug my mug my mug end of section 23 section 24 of the junior classics volume 6 old fashioned tales this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org the junior classics volume 6 old fashioned tales the king of the golden river part 2 by John Ruskin the king of the golden river had hardly made the extraordinary exit related in the last chapter before Hans and Schwartz came roaring into the house very savagely drunk the discovery of the total loss of their last piece of plate had the effect of sobering them just enough to enable them to stand over gluck beating him very steadily for an hour at the expiration of which period they dropped into a couple of chairs and requested to know what he had got to say for himself gluck told them his story of which of course they did not believe a word they beat him again till their arms were tired and staggered to bed in the morning however the steadiness with which he adhered to his story obtained him some degree of credence the immediate consequence of which was that the two brothers after wrangling a long time on the naughty question which of them should try his fortune first drew their swords and began fighting the noise of the fray alarmed the neighbors who finding they could not pacify the combatants sent for the constable Hans on hearing this contrived to escape and hid himself but Schwartz was taken before the magistrate fined for breaking peace and having drunk out his last penny the evening before was thrown into prison till he should pay when Hans heard this he was much delighted and determined to set out immediately for the golden river how to get the holy water was the question he went to the priest but the priest could not give any holy water to so abandoned character so Hans went to Vespers in the evening for the first time in his life and under pretence of crossing himself stole a cup full and returned home in triumph next morning he got up before the sun rose put the holy water into a strong flask and two bottles of wine and some meat in a basket slung them over his back took his alpine staff in his hand and set off for the mountains on his way out of the town he had to pass the prison and as he looked in at the windows whom should he see but Schwartz himself peeping out of the bars and looking very disconsolate good morning brother said Hans have you any message for the king of the golden river? Schwartz snatched his teeth with rage and shook the bars with all his strength but Hans only laughed at him and advising him to make himself comfortable till he came back again shouldered his basket shook the bottle of holy water and Schwartz's face till it stopped again and marched off in the highest spirits in the world it was indeed a morning that might have made anyone happy even with no golden river to seek for level lines of dewy mist lay stretched along the valley out of which rose the massy mountains their lower cliffs and pale gray shadow hardly distinguishable from the floating vapor but gradually ascending till they caught the sunlight which ran up touches of ready color along the angular crags and pierced in long level rays through their fringes of spear like pine far above shot up red splintered masses of castellated rock jagged and shivered into myriads of fantastic forms with here and there a streak of sunlit snow traced down their chasms like a line of forked lightning and far beyond far above all these fainter than the morning cloud but pure and changeless slept in the blue sky the utmost peaks of the eternal snow the golden river which sprang from one of the lower and snowless elevations was now nearly in shadow all but the uppermost jets of spray which rose like slow smoke above the undulating line of the cataract and floated away in feeble wreaths upon the morning wind on this object and on this alone Han's eyes and thoughts were fixed forgetting the distance he had to traverse he set off at an imprudent rate of walking which greatly exhausted him before he had scaled the first range of the green and low hills he was moreover surprised on surmounting them to find that a large glacier of whose existence not withstanding his previous knowledge of the mountains he had been absolutely ignorant lay between him and the source of the golden river he entered on it with the boldness of a practiced mountaineer yet he thought he had never traversed so strange or so dangerous a glacier in his life the ice was excessively slippery and out of all its chasms came wild sounds of gushing water not monotonous or low but changeful and loud rising occasionally into drifting passages of wild melody then breaking off into short melancholy tones or sudden shrieks resembling those of human voices in distress or pain the ice was broken into thousands of confused shapes but none Han's thought like the ordinary forms of splintered ice there seemed a curious expression about all their outlines a perpetual resemblance to living features distorted and scornful myriads of deceitful shadows and lurid lights played and floated about and through the pale blue pinnacles dazzling and confusing the sight of the traveler while his ears grew dull and his head giddy with the constant gush and roar of the concealed waters these painful circumstances increased upon him as he advanced the ice crashed and yawned into fresh chasms at his feet tottering spires nodded around him and fell thundering across his path and though he had repeatedly faced these dangers on most terrific glaciers and in the wildest weather it was with a new and oppressive feeling of panic terror that he leaped the last chasm and flung himself exhausted and shuddering on the turf of the mountain he had been compelled to abandon his basket of food which became a perilous encumbrance on the glacier and had now no means of refreshing himself but by breaking off and eating some of the pieces of ice this however relieved his thirst and ours repose recruited his hearty frame and with the indomitable spirit of avarice he resumed his laborious journey his way now lay straight up a ridge of bare red rocks without a blade of grass to ease the foot or a projecting angle to afford an inch of shade from the south sun it was past noon and the rays beat intensely upon the steep path while the whole atmosphere was motionless and penetrated with heat intense thirst was soon added to the bodily fatigue with which Hans was now afflicted glance after glance he cast on the flask of water which hung at his belt three drops are enough at last thought he I may at least cool my lips with it he opened the flask and was raising it to his lips when his eye fell on an object lying on the rock beside him he thought it moved it was a small dog apparently in the last agony of death from thirst its jaws dry its limbs extended lifelessly and a swarm of black ants were crawling about its lips and throat its eye moved to the bottle which Hans held in his hand he raised it drank spurned the animal with his foot and passed on and he did not know how it was but he thought that a strange shadow had suddenly come across the blue sky the path became steeper and more rugged every moment and the high hill air instead of refreshing him seemed to throw his blood into a fever the noise of the hill cataracts sounded like mockery in his ears they were all distant and his thirst increased every moment another hour passed and he again looked down to the flask and his side it was half empty but there was much more than three drops in it he stopped to open it and again as he did so his eyes moving moved in the path above him it was a fair child stretched nearly lifeless on the rock its breast heaving with thirst its eyes closed and its lips parched and burning Hans eyed it deliberately drank and passed on and a dark grey cloud came over the sun and long snake-like shadows crept up along the mountain sides Hans struggled on the sun was sinking but its descent seemed to bring no coolness the leaden weight of the dead air pressed upon his brow and heart but the goal was near he saw the cataract of the golden river springing from the hillside scarcely 500 feet above him he paused for a moment to breathe and sprang on to complete his task at this instant a faint cry fell on his ear he turned and saw a grey-haired old man extended on the rocks his eyes were sunk his features deadly pale and gathered into an expression of despair water he stretched his arms to Hans and cried Phoebe water I am dying I have none replied Hans thou has had thy share of life he strode over the prostrate body and darted on and a flash of blue lightning rose out of the east it shook thrice over the whole heaven and left it dark with one heavy impenetrable shade the sun was setting it plunged towards the horizon like a red hot ball the roar of the golden river rose on Hans' ear he stood at the brink of the chasm through which it ran its waves were filled with the red glory of the sunset they shook their crests like tongues of fire and flashes of bloody light gleamed along their foam their sound came mightier and mightier on his senses his brain grew giddy with the prolonged thunder shuddering he drew the flask from his girdle and hurled it into the center of the torrent as he did so an icy chill shot through his limbs he staggered, shrieked and fell the waters closed over his cry and the moaning of the river rose wildly to the night as it gushed over the black stone poor little Gluck waited very anxiously alone in the house for Hans' return finding he did not come back he was terribly frightened and went and told Schwartz in the prison all that had happened then Schwartz was very much pleased and said that Hans must certainly have been turned into a black stone and he should have all the gold to himself but Gluck was very sorry and cried all night when he got up in the morning there was no bread in the house nor any money so Gluck went and hired himself to another goldsmith and he worked so hard and so neatly and so long every day that he soon got money enough together to pay his brother's fine and he went and gave it all to Schwartz and Schwartz got out of prison then Schwartz was quite pleased and said he should have some of the gold of the river but Gluck only begged that he would go and see what had become of Hans now when Schwartz had heard that Hans had stolen the holy water he thought to himself that such a proceeding might not be considered altogether correct by the king of the golden river and determined to manage matters better so he took some more of Gluck's money and went to a bad man who gave him some holy water very readily for it then Schwartz was sure it was all quite right so Schwartz got up early in the morning before the sun rose and took some bread and wine in a basket and put his holy water in a flask and set off for the mountains like his brother he was much surprised at the sight of a glacier and had great difficulty in crossing it even after leaving his basket behind him the day was cloudless but not bright there was a heavy purple haze hanging over the sky both lowering and gloomy and as Schwartz climbed a steep rock path the thirst came upon him as it had upon his brother until he lifted his flask to his lips to drink then he saw the fair child lying near him on the rocks and it cried to him and moaned for water water indeed said Schwartz I haven't half enough for myself and passed on and as he went he thought that some beams grew more dim no bank of black cloud rising out of the west and when he had climbed for another hour the thirst overcame him again and he would have drunk then he saw the old man lying before him on the path and heard him cry out for water water indeed said Schwartz I haven't half enough for myself and on he went then again the light seemed to fade from before his eyes and he looked up and behold a mist of the color of blood had come over the sun and the bank of black cloud had risen very high and its edges were tossing and tumbling like the waves of the angry sea and they cast long shadows which flickered over Schwartz's path then Schwartz climbed for another hour and again his thirst returned and as he lifted his flask to his lips he thought he saw his brother Hans lying exhausted on the path before him and as he gazed the figure stretched its arms to him and cried for water haha laughed Schwartz are you there? remember the prison bars my boy water indeed do you suppose I carried it all the way up here for you? and as he strode over the figure yet as he passed he thought he saw a strange expression of mockery about its lips and when he had gone a few yards farther he looked back but the figure was not there and a sudden horror came over Schwartz he knew not why but the thirst for gold prevailed over his fear and he rushed on and the bank of black cloud rose to the zenith and out of it came bursts of spirally lightning and waves of darkness seemed to heave and float between their flashes over the whole heavens and the sky where the sun was setting and like a lake of blood and a strong wind came out of that sky tearing its crimson clouds into fragments and scattering them far into the darkness and then Schwartz stood by the brink of the golden river its waves were black like thunder clouds but their foam was like fire and the roar of the waters below and the thunder above met as he cast the flask into the stream and as he did so lightning glared in his eyes and the earth gave way beneath him and the waters closed over his cry and the moaning of the river rose wildly into the night as it gushed over the two black stones when gluck found that Schwartz did not come back he was very sorry and did not know what to do he had no money and was obliged to go and hire himself again to the goldsmith who worked him very hard and gave him very little money so, after a month or two gluck grew tired and made up his mind to go and try his fortune with the golden river the little king looked very kind thought he I don't think he will turn me into a black stone so he went to the priest and the priest gave him some holy water as soon as he asked for it then gluck took some bread in his basket and the bottle of water and set off very early for the mountains if the glacier had occasioned a great deal of fatigue to his brothers it was twenty times worse for him who was neither so strong nor so practiced on the mountains he had several very bad falls lost his basket and bread and was very much frightened at the strange noises under the ice he lay a long time to rest on the grass after he had got over and began to climb the hill at the start of the day when he had climbed for an hour he got dreadfully thirsty and was going to drink like his brothers when he saw an old man coming down the path above him looking very feeble and leaning on a staff my son said the old man I am faint with thirst give me some of that water then gluck looked at him and when he saw that he was pale and weary he gave him the water only pray don't drink it all said gluck but the old man drank a great deal and gave him back the bottle two thirds empty then he bade him good speed and gluck went on again merrily and the path became easier to his feet and two or three blades of grass appeared upon it and some grasshoppers began singing on the bank beside it and gluck thought he had never heard such Mary singing then he went on for another hour and the thirst increased on him so that he thought he should be forced to drink but as he raised a flask he saw a little child lying panting by the roadside and he cried out piteously for water then gluck struggled with himself and determined to bear the thirst a little longer and he put the bottle to the child's lips and it drank it all but a few drops then it smiled on him and got up and ran down the hill and gluck looked after it till it became as small as a little star and then turned and began climbing again and then there were all kinds of sweet flowers growing on the rocks bright green moss with pale pink starry flowers and soft bowed gentians more blue than the sky at its deepest and pure white transparent lilies and crimson and purple butterflies darted hither and thither and the sky sent down such pure light that gluck had never felt so happy in his life yet when he had climbed for another hour his thirst became intolerable again and when he looked at his bottle he saw that there were only five or six drops left in it and he could not venture to drink and as he was hanging the flask to his belt again he saw a little dog lying on the rocks gasping for breath just as Hans had seen it on the day of his ascent and gluck stopped and looked at it and then at the golden river not 500 yards above him and he thought of the Dwarf's words that no one could succeed except in his first attempt and he tried to pass the dog but it whined piteously and gluck stopped again poor beastie said gluck it'll be dead when I come down again if I don't help it then he looked closer and closer at it and its eye turned on him so mournfully that he could not stand it confound the king in his gold too said gluck and he opened the flask and poured all the water into the dog's mouth the dog sprang up and stood on his hind legs its tail disappeared its ears became long longer silky golden its nose became very red its eyes became very twinkling in three seconds the dog was gone and the foregluck stood in old acquaintance the king of the golden river thank you, said the monarch but don't be frightened its alright foregluck showed manifest symptoms of consternation at this unlooked for reply to his last observation why didn't you come before continue the Dwarf instead of sending me those rascally brothers of yours for me to have the trouble of turning into stones very hard stones they make too oh dear me foregluck have you really been so cruel cruel said the dwarf they poured unholy water into my stream do you suppose I am going to allow that why foregluck I am sure sir your majesty I mean they got the water out of the church font very probably replied the dwarf but and his countenance grew stern as he spoke the water which has been refused to the cry of the weary and dying is unholy though it had been blessed by every saint in heaven and the water which is found in the vessel of mercy is holy though it had been defiled with corpses so saying the dwarf stooped and plucked a lily that grew at his feet on its white leaves there hung three drops of clear dew and the dwarf shook them into the flask which gluck held in his hand cast these into the river and descend on the other side of the mountains into the treasure valley and so good speed as he spoke the figure of the dwarf became indistinct the plain colors of his robe formed themselves into a prismatic mist of dewy light he stood for an instant veiled with them as with the belt of a broad rainbow the colors grew faint the mist rose into the air the monarch had evaporated and gluck climbed to the brink of the golden river and its waves were as clear as crystal and as brilliant as the sun and when he cast the three drops of dew into the stream they opened where they fell a small circular whirlpool into which the waters descended with a musical noise gluck stood watching it for some time very much disappointed because not only the river was not turned into gold but its water seemed much diminished in quantity yet he obeyed his friend the dwarf and descended the other side of the mountains towards the treasure valley and as he went he thought he heard the noise of water working its way under the ground and when he came in sight of the treasure valley behold a river like the golden river was springing from a new cleft of the rocks above it and was flowing in innumerable streams among the dry heaps of red sand and as gluck gazed fresh grass sprang beside the new streams and creeping plants grew and climbed among the moistening soil young flowers opened suddenly along the river's sides as stars leap out when twilight is deepening and thickets of myrtle and tendrils of vine cast lengthening shadows over the valley as they grew and thus the treasure valley became a garden again and the inheritance which had been lost by cruelty was regained by love and gluck went and dwelt in the valley and the poor were never driven from his door so that his barns became full of corn and his house of treasure and for him the river had according to the dwarf's promise become a river of gold and to this day the inhabitants of the valley point out the place where the three drops of holy dew were cast into the stream and trace the course of the golden river under the ground until it emerges in the treasure valley and at the top of the cataract of the golden river are still to be seen two black stones browned which the waters howl mournfully every day at sunset and these stones are still called by the people of the valley the black brothers end of section 24 section 25 of the junior classics volume 6 old fashion tales this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Nima the junior classics volume 6 old fashion tales the two gifts by Lilian M. Gask a heavy snowstorm was raging in great soft lakes fell through the air like feathers shaken from the wings of an innumerable host of angels by the side of the roadway set a poor old woman her scanty clothing affording by poor protection from the icy blast of the wind she was very hungry for she had tasted no food that day but her faded eyes were calm and patient telling of an unwavering trust and providence perhaps she thought some traveler might come that way who would take compassion on her and give her alms then she could return to the garret that she called home with bread to eat and fuel to kindle a fire the day drew in and still she sat and waited at last a traveler approached the thick snow muffled every sound and she was not aware of his coming until his burly figure loomed before her her plaintive voice made him turn with a start poor woman he cried pausing to look at her very pittingly it is hard for you to be out in such weather as this then he passed on without giving her anything his conscious told him that he ought to have relieved her but he did not feel inclined to take off his thick glove in that bitter cold and without doing this he could not have found a coin the poor woman was naturally disappointed but she was grateful for his kind words by and by another traveler appeared was driving in a splendid carriage warmly wrapped in a great fur cloak as he caught sight of the poor creature by the roadside he felt vaguely touched by the contrast of his own comfort with her misery obeying a sudden impulse with one hand he let down the carriage window and signed to his coachman to stop and with the other felt in his pocket the poor old woman hurried to the carriage a thrill of hope bringing a tinge of color to her pale and withered cheeks how terribly cold it is exclaimed the rich man and as he took his hand from his pocket and held out a coin to her he noticed that instead of silver he was about to give her a piece of gold dear me that is far too much he cried but before he could return it to his pocket the coin slipped through his fingers and fell in the snow a rough blast of wind made his teeth chatter and pulling up the window in a great hurry with a little shiver he drew the fur rug closely around him it certainly was too much he murmured philosophically as the carriage rolled on but then I am very rich and can afford to do a generous action now and then when his comfortable dinner was over and he was sitting in front of a blazing fire he thought once more of the poor old woman it is not nearly so cold as I thought he remarked as he settled himself more comfortably in his deep armchair I certainly gave that old creature too much however what's done is done and I hope she'll make good use of it I was generous very generous indeed no doubt God will reward me meanwhile the other traveler had also reached his journey's end and he too had found a blazing fire and good dinner waiting him he could not enjoy it however for he was haunted by the remembrance of that bent and shrunken figure in the waste of snow and felt very remorseful for not having stopped to help her at last he could bear it no longer bring another plate he said calling the servant to him there will be two to nine instead of one I shall be back soon saying this he hurried through the darkness to the spot where he had left the old woman she was still there feebly searching amongst the snow what are you looking for he asked I'm trying to find a piece of money which a gentleman threw me from his carriage window she told him falternly scarcely able to speak from cold and hunger it was no wonder he thought that she had not found it for her hands were numbed and half frozen and she was not only old but nearly blind I'm afraid you'll never find it now he said but come with me he added consolingly I will take you to my inn where there is a bright fire waiting for both of us you shall be my guest and I will see that you have a comfortable night's lodging the poor old woman could scarcely believe her good fortune as she tremblingly prepared to follow her new friend noticing that she was lame as well as nearly blind he took her arm and with slow and patient steps led her to the hotel when the recording angel wrote that night in the Book of Heaven he made no mention of the piece of gold which the wealthy traveler had given by mistake for only a worthy motive gains credit in that book but admits the good deeds that have been wrought that day he gave a foremost place to that of the man who'd repented of his hardness and faced once more the bitter cold that he might share his comforts with a fellow creature so much less fortunate than himself End of Section 25