The Goblins
This story goes back to the "good old times" of
which
we modern people always speak with a sigh of regret.
It was then when good-natured goblins appeared to
mortal
eyes, and tried to render the life of the troubled human race a little
more
cheerful. In groves and dens they had magnificent dwellings and watched
there
over the enormous mineral treasures of the earth.
Often these beneficent elves were busy miners or
sometimes
clever artisans. We all know that they manufactured the precious
trinkets
and arms of the Nibelungen treasure.
Deep in the interior of the earth they lived
happily
together, ruled over by a king. They could be called the harmless
friends
of darkness, because they were not allowed to come into broad daylight.
If
they did so, they were transformed into stones.
The goblins did not always remain underground. On
the
contrary they often came to the earth's surface through certain holes,
called
goblin-holes, but they always avoided meeting man.
Alas! the advance of civilisation has driven these
friendly
spirits gradually from the places where they used to do so much good.
None
of us, I am sure has ever had the good luck of meeting one of them.
The goblins were of different sizes. Sometimes
they were
as small as one's thumb, sometimes as large as the hand of a child of
four
years old. The most remarkable feature of these tiny figures was the
enormous
head and the pointed hump that so often adorned their backs. Their look
was
on the whole more comical than ugly. German people used to call them
"Heinzchen"
or "Heinzelmännchen."
A long time ago the good town of Cologne was
inhabited
by a host of dwarfs, and the honest population knew a great many
stories
about them. The workmen and artisans especially had, through the
assistance
of the little wights, far more holidays than are marked in the
calendar.
When the carpenters for instance were lying on
their
benches in sweet repose, those little men came swiftly and stealthily
along,
they took up the tools and chiselled and sawed and hammered with a
will,
and thus, records the poetical chronicles which I am quoting, before
the
carpenters woke up, the house stood there finished. In the same way
things
went on with the baker. While his lads were snoring, the little goblins
came
to help. They groaned under the load of heavy corn-sacks, they kneaded
and
weighed the flour, lifted and pushed the bread into the oven, and
before
the lazy bakers opened their eyes, the morning bread, brown and crisp,
was
lying in rows on the table.
The butchers too could speak of similar agreeable
experiences.
The good little men chopped, mixed and stirred with all their might,
and
when the drowsy butcher .opened his eyes at last, he found the fresh,
steaming
sausages adorning the walls of his shop.
The cooper enjoyed also the help of the busy
dwarfs,
and :even the tailor could not complain of the goblins having neglected
him.
Once Mr. Cotton, a clever tailor, had the honour
of making
a Sunday coat for the mayor of the town. He worked diligently at it,
but
you can easily imagine that in the heat of the summer afternoon, the
needle
soon dropped from his hand, and he fell fast asleep. Hush!
– look
there.
One little goblin after the other crept cautiously from his hiding
place.
They climbed on the table and began the tailor's
work,
and stitched and sewed and fitted and pressed, as if they had been
masters
of the needle all their lives.
When Master Cotton awoke, he found to his great
joy the
mayor's Sunday coat ready made, and so neatly and well done that he
could
present the magnificent garment with pride to the head of the town.
The pretty wife of Mr. Cotton looked at this
master-piece
of her husband's art with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
In the night when her husband had fallen asleep,
she
rose from her bed without making the slightest noise, and scattered
pease
all over the floor of the workshop; she then put a half-finished suit
on
the table. She kept a small lantern hidden under her apron, and waited
behind
the door listening. Soon after the room was full of little men all
tumbling,
failing, and slipping over the pease. Yells and screams rose at the
same
time. The poor little men were indeed much bruised and hurt. Without
stopping
they ran downstairs and disappeared.
The tailor's wife heard the noise, and thought it
good
sport. When the yells were loudest, she suddenly opened the door to see
her
visitors, but she came too late. Not a single goblin was left behind.
Since that time the friendly dwarfs have never
more been
seen in Cologne, and in other places also they have entirely
disappeared.
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