In one far, far country, located in the north, among snowdrifts, glaciers and eternal frosts, in an incredibly beautiful ice palace, there lived a happy family of the ruler of this region - a magical prince and his wife. As the fairy tale about the cold heart has already told us, the chosen one of the prince was none other than the favorite of many children - Princess Elsa. The kind and cheerful snowman Olaf coped with the task of her sister Anna perfectly well! He managed not only to find a mate for Elsa, but also to save the whole kingdom from unusual heat and flooding. Moreover, with the marriage of Elsa and the prince, the risk of recurrence of such threats disappeared altogether, because, firstly, they learned to control their powers better, and secondly, the couple in love knew how to instantly correct each other's mistakes. If Elsa accidentally freezes someone, the prince uses his ability to melt ice and vice versa.

The life of the royal family passed among numerous entertainments and fun. The prince and princess were madly in love with each other, in addition, they were very respected by their subjects. Therefore, caring Anna could be calm for her sister: Elsa finally found her happiness and everything indicated that she would never be bored again and would not feel lonely.

On that calm morning, nothing foreshadowed trouble: Elsa, as always, had breakfast on the balcony with fresh croissants with cocoa, and the prince decided important state affairs. He was a very good, just and wise ruler who managed to organize an ideal order in the whole kingdom. Thanks to his devotion and prudence, the country prospered and strengthened every day. However, only at first glance it seemed that everything happens as if with the help of a magic wand. In fact, state affairs required a lot of the prince's time, so he started them in the morning, so that later he could have fun and relax with Elsa.

While having breakfast, Elsa saw a happy Olaf, who was descending from the mountain and holding something amazing in his hands. As the snowman approached, the princess was able to see the strange thing better - it was a bouquet of delicate purple flowers that not only looked wonderful, but also created an incredible aroma around. Elsa, who had never seen real flowers before, was extremely amazed by what she saw. Olaf's story about the neighboring country, where eternal summer reigns and everything blooms, greatly interested and at the same time upset the princess.

The fact is that she has long wanted to see what real summer is, feel its unique aroma, go to the forest to pick berries, weave a wreath of flowers and maybe even swim in the warm sea. However, this was all an unattainable dream, because the princess had a cold heart, for which the hot summer was a serious danger.

Every day Elsa became more and more sad and self-contained, and no one could guess the reason for her bad mood. What kind of entertainment, fun and gifts the prince did not invent for his beloved, all in vain - Elsa did not stop feeling sad even for a minute. Very soon, the inhabitants of the kingdom forgot what the smile of the princess looked like, they were so used to seeing her gloomy and sad.

Seeing the gift of the prince, Elsa was very happy, and without wasting time she got ready to go on the road - to fulfill her long-cherished dream.

Enjoying her first and such a special summer vacation, the young princess realized a very important thing: you should not close yourself in, being alone with your problems. It is much better to tell loved ones what worries you. Very often they will not only listen, but also help overcome difficulties.

Wilhelm GAUF

COLD HEART

Anyone who happened to visit the Black Forest will tell you that you will never see such tall and mighty fir trees anywhere else, nowhere else will you meet such tall and strong people. It seems as if the very air, saturated with sun and resin, made the inhabitants of the Black Forest unlike their neighbors, the inhabitants of the surrounding plains. Even their clothes are not the same as others. The inhabitants of the mountainous side of the Black Forest dress up especially intricately. The men there wear black coats, wide, finely pleated bloomers, red stockings, and large-brimmed pointed hats. And I must admit that this outfit gives them a very impressive and respectable look.

All the inhabitants here are excellent glassworkers. Their fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers were engaged in this craft, and the fame of the Black Forest glassblowers has long been around the world.

On the other side of the forest, closer to the river, the same Schwarzwalders live, but they are engaged in a different craft, and their customs are also different. All of them, like their fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers, are lumberjacks and raftsmen. On long rafts they float the forest down the Neckar to the Rhine, and along the Rhine to the sea.

They stop at every coastal town and wait for buyers, and the thickest and longest logs are driven to Holland, and the Dutch build their ships from this forest.

Rafters are accustomed to the harsh wandering life. Therefore, their clothes are not at all like the clothes of glassmakers. They wear jackets of dark linen and black leather trousers over green, palm-wide, sashes. A copper ruler always sticks out of the deep pockets of their trousers - a sign of their craft. But most of all they are proud of their boots. Yes, and there is something to be proud of! Nobody in the world wears boots like that. They can be pulled above the knees and walked in them on water, as if on dry land.

Until recently, the inhabitants of the Black Forest believed in forest spirits. Now, of course, everyone knows that there are no spirits, but many legends about mysterious forest inhabitants have passed from grandfathers to grandchildren.

It is said that these forest spirits wore a dress exactly the same as the people among whom they lived.

The Glass Man - a good friend of people - always appeared in a wide-brimmed pointed hat, in a black camisole and harem pants, and on his feet he had red stockings and black shoes. He was as tall as a one-year-old child, but this did not in the least interfere with his power.

And Michel the Giant wore the clothes of rafters, and those. who happened to see him, they assured him that a good fifty calfskins should have been used for his boots, so that an adult could hide in these boots with his head. And they all swore that they weren't exaggerating in the slightest.

One Schwarunald guy had to get acquainted with these forest spirits.

About how it happened and what happened, you will now find out.

Many years ago there lived in the Black Forest a poor widow named and nicknamed Barbara Munch.

Her husband was a coal miner, and when he died, her sixteen-year-old son Peter had to take up the same craft. Until now, he only watched his father put out coal, and now he himself had a chance to sit days and nights near a smoking coal pit, and then drive around with a cart along the roads and streets, offering his black goods at all gates and scaring the children with his face and clothes darkened by coal dust.

The charcoal trade is so good (or so bad) that it leaves a lot of time for reflection.

And Peter Munch, sitting alone by his fire, like many other coal miners, thought about everything in the world. The silence of the forest, the rustling of the wind in the treetops, the lonely cry of a bird - everything made him think about the people he met while wandering with his cart, about himself and about his sad fate.

“What a pitiful fate to be a black, dirty coal miner! thought Peter. - Is it the craft of a glazier, a watchmaker or a shoemaker! Even the musicians who are hired to play at Sunday parties are honored more than us!” So, if it happens, Peter Munch will come out on a holiday on the street - cleanly washed, in his father's ceremonial caftan with silver buttons, in new red stockings and shoes with buckles ... Anyone who sees him from afar will say: “What a guy - well done ! Who would it be? And he will come closer, only wave his hand: “Oh, but it’s just Peter Munch, the coal miner! ..” And he will pass by.

But most of all, Peter Munch envied the raftmen. When these forest giants came to them for a holiday, hanging half a pood of silver trinkets on themselves - all kinds of chains, buttons and buckles - and, legs wide apart, looked at the dances, puffing from arshin Cologne pipes, it seemed to Peter that there was no people are happier and more honorable. When these lucky ones put their hands into their pockets and pulled out handfuls of silver coins, Peter's breath spiraled, his head was troubled, and he, sad, returned to his hut. He could not see how these “wood-burning gentlemen” lost more in one evening than he himself earned in a whole year.

But three raftmen evoked in him special admiration and envy: Ezekiel the Fat, Schlyurker Skinny and Wilm the Handsome.

Ezekiel the Fat was considered the first rich man in the district.

He was unusually lucky. He always sold timber at exorbitant prices, the money itself flowed into his pockets.

Schlyurker Skinny was the most courageous person Peter knew. No one dared to argue with him, and he was not afraid to argue with anyone. In the tavern he ate and drank for three, and occupied a place for three, but no one dared to say a word to him when he, spreading his elbows, sat down at the table or stretched his long legs along the bench - he had a lot of money .

Wilm Handsome was a young, stately fellow, the best dancer among the raftsmen and glaziers. More recently, he was as poor as Peter, and served as a worker for timber merchants. And suddenly, for no reason at all, he got rich "Some said that he found a pot of silver in the forest under an old spruce. Others claimed that somewhere on the Rhine he picked up a bag of gold with a hook.

One way or another, he suddenly became rich, and the raftsmen began to revere him, as if he were not a simple raftsman, but a prince.

All three - Ezekiel the Fat, Shlyurker Skinny and Wilm the Handsome - were completely different from each other, but all three equally loved money and were equally heartless towards people who did not have money. And yet, even though they were disliked for their greed, everything was forgiven for their wealth. Yes, and how not to forgive! Who, except for them, could scatter ringing thalers to the right and left, as if they got money for free, like fir cones ?!

“And where do they get so much money from,” thought Peter, returning somehow from a festive feast, where he did not drink, did not eat, but only watched how others ate and drank. “Ah, if only I had at least a tenth of what Ezekiel Tolstoy drank and lost today!”

Peter went over in his mind all the ways he knew how to get rich, but he could not think of a single one that was in the slightest degree correct.

Finally, he remembered stories about people who allegedly received whole mountains of gold from Michel the Giant or from the Glass Man.

Even when their father was alive, poor neighbors often gathered in their house to dream of wealth, and more than once they mentioned the little patron of glassblowers in their conversation.

Peter even remembered the rhymes that had to be said in the thicket of the forest, near the biggest spruce, in order to summon the Glass Man:

- Under a shaggy spruce,

In a dark dungeon

Where the spring is born, -

An old man lives between the roots.

He's incredibly rich

He keeps a cherished treasure...

There were two more lines in these rhymes, but no matter how Peter puzzled, he could never remember them.

He often wanted to ask one of the old people if they remembered the end of this spell, but either shame or fear of betraying his secret thoughts held him back.

Wilhelm GAUF

COLD HEART

Anyone who happened to visit the Black Forest will tell you that you will never see such tall and mighty fir trees anywhere else, nowhere else will you meet such tall and strong people. It seems as if the very air, saturated with sun and resin, made the inhabitants of the Black Forest unlike their neighbors, the inhabitants of the surrounding plains. Even their clothes are not the same as others. The inhabitants of the mountainous side of the Black Forest dress up especially intricately. The men there wear black coats, wide, finely pleated bloomers, red stockings, and large-brimmed pointed hats. And I must admit that this outfit gives them a very impressive and respectable look.

All the inhabitants here are excellent glassworkers. Their fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers were engaged in this craft, and the fame of the Black Forest glassblowers has long been around the world.

On the other side of the forest, closer to the river, the same Schwarzwalders live, but they are engaged in a different craft, and their customs are also different. All of them, like their fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers, are lumberjacks and raftsmen. On long rafts they float the forest down the Neckar to the Rhine, and along the Rhine to the sea.

They stop at every coastal town and wait for buyers, and the thickest and longest logs are driven to Holland, and the Dutch build their ships from this forest.

Rafters are accustomed to the harsh wandering life. Therefore, their clothes are not at all like the clothes of glassmakers. They wear jackets of dark linen and black leather trousers over green, palm-wide, sashes. A copper ruler always sticks out of the deep pockets of their trousers - a sign of their craft. But most of all they are proud of their boots. Yes, and there is something to be proud of! Nobody in the world wears boots like that. They can be pulled above the knees and walked in them on water, as if on dry land.

Until recently, the inhabitants of the Black Forest believed in forest spirits. Now, of course, everyone knows that there are no spirits, but many legends about mysterious forest inhabitants have passed from grandfathers to grandchildren.

It is said that these forest spirits wore a dress exactly the same as the people among whom they lived.

The Glass Man - a good friend of people - always appeared in a wide-brimmed pointed hat, in a black camisole and harem pants, and on his feet he had red stockings and black shoes. He was as tall as a one-year-old child, but this did not in the least interfere with his power.

And Michel the Giant wore the clothes of rafters, and those. who happened to see him, they assured him that a good fifty calfskins should have been used for his boots, so that an adult could hide in these boots with his head. And they all swore that they weren't exaggerating in the slightest.

One Schwarunald guy had to get acquainted with these forest spirits.

About how it happened and what happened, you will now find out.

Many years ago there lived in the Black Forest a poor widow named and nicknamed Barbara Munch.

Her husband was a coal miner, and when he died, her sixteen-year-old son Peter had to take up the same craft. Until now, he only watched his father put out coal, and now he himself had a chance to sit days and nights near a smoking coal pit, and then drive around with a cart along the roads and streets, offering his black goods at all gates and scaring the children with his face and clothes darkened by coal dust.

The charcoal trade is so good (or so bad) that it leaves a lot of time for reflection.

And Peter Munch, sitting alone by his fire, like many other coal miners, thought about everything in the world. The silence of the forest, the rustling of the wind in the treetops, the lonely cry of a bird - everything made him think about the people he met while wandering with his cart, about himself and about his sad fate.

“What a pitiful fate to be a black, dirty coal miner! thought Peter. - Is it the craft of a glazier, a watchmaker or a shoemaker! Even the musicians who are hired to play at Sunday parties are honored more than us!” So, if it happens, Peter Munch will come out on a holiday on the street - cleanly washed, in his father's ceremonial caftan with silver buttons, in new red stockings and shoes with buckles ... Anyone who sees him from afar will say: “What a guy - well done ! Who would it be? And he will come closer, only wave his hand: “Oh, but it’s just Peter Munch, the coal miner! ..” And he will pass by.

But most of all, Peter Munch envied the raftmen. When these forest giants came to them for a holiday, hanging half a pood of silver trinkets on themselves - all kinds of chains, buttons and buckles - and, legs wide apart, looked at the dances, puffing from arshin Cologne pipes, it seemed to Peter that there was no people are happier and more honorable. When these lucky ones put their hands into their pockets and pulled out handfuls of silver coins, Peter's breath spiraled, his head was troubled, and he, sad, returned to his hut. He could not see how these “wood-burning gentlemen” lost more in one evening than he himself earned in a whole year.

But three raftmen evoked in him special admiration and envy: Ezekiel the Fat, Schlyurker Skinny and Wilm the Handsome.

Ezekiel the Fat was considered the first rich man in the district.

He was unusually lucky. He always sold timber at exorbitant prices, the money itself flowed into his pockets.

Schlyurker Skinny was the most courageous person Peter knew. No one dared to argue with him, and he was not afraid to argue with anyone. In the tavern he ate and drank for three, and occupied a place for three, but no one dared to say a word to him when he, spreading his elbows, sat down at the table or stretched his long legs along the bench - he had a lot of money .

Wilm Handsome was a young, stately fellow, the best dancer among the raftsmen and glaziers. More recently, he was as poor as Peter, and served as a worker for timber merchants. And suddenly, for no reason at all, he got rich "Some said that he found a pot of silver in the forest under an old spruce. Others claimed that somewhere on the Rhine he picked up a bag of gold with a hook.

One way or another, he suddenly became rich, and the raftsmen began to revere him, as if he were not a simple raftsman, but a prince.

All three - Ezekiel the Fat, Shlyurker Skinny and Wilm the Handsome - were completely different from each other, but all three equally loved money and were equally heartless towards people who did not have money. And yet, even though they were disliked for their greed, everything was forgiven for their wealth. Yes, and how not to forgive! Who, except for them, could scatter ringing thalers to the right and left, as if they got money for free, like fir cones ?!

“And where do they get so much money from,” thought Peter, returning somehow from a festive feast, where he did not drink, did not eat, but only watched how others ate and drank. “Ah, if only I had at least a tenth of what Ezekiel Tolstoy drank and lost today!”

Peter went over in his mind all the ways he knew how to get rich, but he could not think of a single one that was in the slightest degree correct.

Finally, he remembered stories about people who allegedly received whole mountains of gold from Michel the Giant or from the Glass Man.

Even when their father was alive, poor neighbors often gathered in their house to dream of wealth, and more than once they mentioned the little patron of glassblowers in their conversation.

Peter even remembered the rhymes that had to be said in the thicket of the forest, near the biggest spruce, in order to summon the Glass Man:

- Under a shaggy spruce,

In a dark dungeon

Where the spring is born, -

An old man lives between the roots.

He's incredibly rich

He keeps a cherished treasure...

There were two more lines in these rhymes, but no matter how Peter puzzled, he could never remember them.

He often wanted to ask one of the old people if they remembered the end of this spell, but either shame or fear of betraying his secret thoughts held him back.

“Yes, they probably don’t know these words,” he consoled himself. “And if they knew, then why didn’t they themselves go into the forest and call the Glass Man! ..

In the end, he decided to start a conversation with his mother about it - maybe she will remember something.

But if Peter forgot the last two lines, then his mother remembered only the first two.

But he learned from her that the Glass Man is shown only to those who were lucky enough to be born on a Sunday between twelve and two o'clock in the afternoon.

“If you knew this spell from word to word, he would certainly appear to you,” said the mother, sighing. “You were born just on Sunday, at noon.

Hearing this, Peter completely lost his head.

“Come what may,” he decided, “and I must try my luck.”

And so, having sold all the coal prepared for buyers, he put on his father's holiday coat, new red stockings, a new Sunday hat, picked up a stick and said to his mother:

- I need to go to town. They say that soon there will be a recruitment for the soldiers, so, I think, you should remind the commander that you are a widow and that I am your only son.

His mother praised him for his prudence and wished him a happy journey. And Peter briskly walked along the road, but not into the city, but straight into the forest. He walked higher and higher along the slope of the mountain, overgrown with spruce, and finally reached the very top.

The place was quiet, deserted. There is no housing anywhere - no lumberjacks' hut, no hunting hut.

Rarely does anyone visit here. Among the surrounding residents it was rumored that these places were unclean, and everyone tried to bypass Spruce Mountain.

Here grew the tallest, strongest firs, but for a long time the sound of an ax had not been heard in this wilderness. And no wonder! As soon as some lumberjack looked here, disaster would inevitably happen to him: either the ax would jump off the ax handle and pierce his leg, or the cut tree would fall so quickly that the person did not have time to jump back and he was pounded to death, and the raft, into which at least one such a tree, certainly went to the bottom along with the raftsman. Finally, people completely stopped disturbing this forest, and it grew so violently and densely that even at noon it was dark here as at night.

Peter was terrified when he entered the thicket. It was quiet all around, not a sound anywhere. He heard only the sound of his own footsteps. It seemed that even the birds did not fly into this dense forest twilight.

Near a huge spruce, for which the Dutch shipbuilders, without hesitation, would give more than one hundred guilders, Peter stopped.

“Probably the biggest spruce in the whole world! he thought. “So this is where the Glass Man lives.”

Peter removed his festive hat from his head, made a deep bow in front of the tree, cleared his throat, and said in a timid voice:

- Good evening, mister glass master!

But no one answered him.

“Perhaps it’s better to say the rhymes first,” thought Peter, and, stammering over every word, he muttered:

- Under a shaggy spruce,

In a dark dungeon

Where the spring is born, -

An old man lives between the roots.

He's incredibly rich

He keeps a cherished treasure...

And then – Peter could hardly believe his eyes! Someone peeked out from behind a thick trunk. Peter managed to notice a pointed hat, a dark coat, bright red stockings... Someone's quick, keen eyes met Peter's for a moment.

Glass Man! It is he! It is, of course, he! But there was no one under the tree. Peter almost wept with grief.

- Mister glass master! he shouted. - Where are you? Mister glass master! If you think that I have not seen you, you are mistaken. I saw perfectly how you looked out from behind the tree.

Again, no one answered him. But it seemed to Peter that behind the Christmas tree someone laughed softly.

- Wait! shouted Peter. - I'll catch you! And in one leap he found himself behind a tree. But the Glass Man was not there. Only a small fluffy squirrel flew up the trunk with lightning.

“Ah, if I knew the rhymes to the end,” Peter thought sadly, “the Glass Man would probably come out to me. No wonder I was born on a Sunday!..”

Wrinkling his brow, furrowing his brows, he tried his best to remember the forgotten words or even come up with them, but nothing came of it.

And while he was muttering the words of a spell under his breath, a squirrel appeared on the lower branches of the tree, right above his head. She was prettier, fluffing her red tail, and slyly looked at him, either laughing at him, or wanting to provoke him.

And suddenly Peter saw that the squirrel's head was not at all animal, but human, only very small - no more than a squirrel's. And on his head is a wide-brimmed, pointed hat. Peter froze in amazement. And the squirrel was already again the most ordinary squirrel, and only on its hind legs it had red stockings and black shoes.

Here too: Peter could not stand it and rushed to run as fast as he could.

He ran without stopping, and only then took a breath when he heard the barking of dogs and saw in the distance smoke rising from the roof of a hut. Coming closer, he realized that out of fear he had lost his way and was running not towards the house, but in the opposite direction. Lumberjacks and raftsmen lived here.

The owners of the hut greeted Peter cordially and, without asking what his name was and where he came from, they offered him a lodging for the night, fried a large capercaillie for dinner - this is a favorite food of the locals - and brought him a mug of apple wine.

After dinner, the hostess and her daughters took the spinning wheels and sat down closer to the splinter. The children made sure that it did not go out, and watered it with fragrant spruce resin. The old host and his eldest son, smoking their long pipes, talked with the guest, and the younger sons began to carve spoons and forks out of wood.

By evening, a storm broke out in the forest. She howled outside the windows, bending hundred-year-old firs almost to the ground. Every now and then thunderclaps and a terrible crack were heard, as if trees were breaking and falling somewhere not far away.

“Yes, I would not advise anyone to leave the house at such a time,” said the old master, getting up from his seat and closing the door more firmly. - Whoever goes out will never come back. This night Michel the Giant cuts wood for his raft.

Peter was immediately alert.

- And who is this Michel? he asked the old man.

“He is the owner of this forest,” said the old man. “You must be from outside if you haven’t heard anything about it.” Well, I'll tell you what I know myself and what has come down to us from our fathers and grandfathers.

The old man settled himself comfortably, took a puff from his pipe, and began:

- A hundred years ago - so, at least, my grandfather told - there was no people on the whole earth more honest than the Black Forest. Now, when there is so much money in the world, people have lost their shame and conscience. There is nothing to say about young people - the only thing they have to do is dance, swear and overspend. And it wasn't like that before. And the blame for everything - I said this before and now I will repeat it, even if he himself looked into this window - Michel the Giant is to blame for everything. From him all the troubles and went.

So, it means that a rich lumber merchant lived in these places a hundred years ago. He traded with distant Rhenish cities, and his affairs went as well as possible, because he was an honest and industrious man.

And then one day a guy comes to hire him. No one knows him, but it is clear that the local one is dressed like a Black Forester. And almost two heads taller than everyone else. Our guys and the people themselves are not small, but this real giant.

The lumber merchant immediately realized how profitable it is to keep such a hefty worker. He gave him a good salary, and Mikhel (that was the name of this guy) stayed with him.

Needless to say, the lumber merchant did not lose.

When it was necessary to cut down the forest. Michel worked for three. And when the logs had to be dragged, the lumberjacks took six of them at one end of the log, and Mikhel lifted the other end.

After serving like this for half a year, Mikhel appeared to his master.

“Enough,” he says, “I cut down the trees. Now I want to see where they go. Let me go, master, once with the rafts down the river.

“Let it be your way,” the owner said. “Though on rafts you need not so much strength as dexterity, and in the forest you would be more useful to me, but I don’t want to prevent you from looking at the wide world. Get ready!”

The raft, on which Mikhel was supposed to go, was made up of eight links of selected timber. When the raft was already tied up, Michel brought eight more logs, but such large and thick ones as no one had ever seen. And he carried each log on his shoulder so easily, as if it were not a log, but a simple hook.

“Here I will swim on them,” Mikhel said. “And your chips will not stand me.”

And he began to knit a new link from his huge logs.

The raft was so wide that it barely fit between the two banks.

Everyone gasped when they saw such a colossus, and the owner of Mikhel was rubbing his hands and already wondering in his mind how much money could be gained this time from the sale of the forest.

To celebrate, they say, he wanted to give Mikhel a pair of the best boots that raftsmen wear, but Mikhel did not even look at them and brought his own boots from somewhere in the forest. My grandfather assured me that each boot was two pounds in weight and five feet in height.

And now everything was ready. The raft moved.

Up to this time, Michel, every day, surprised the lumberjacks, now it was the turn of the raftsmen to be surprised.

They thought that their heavy raft would barely float with the current. Nothing happened - the raft rushed along the river like a sailboat.

Everyone knows that rafters have the hardest time on turns: the raft must be kept in the middle of the river so that it does not run aground. But this time, no one noticed the turns. Mikhel, just a little, jumped into the water and with one push sent the raft to the right, then to the left, deftly skirting the shoals and pitfalls.

If there were no bends ahead, he ran across to the front link, stuck his huge hook into the bottom with a swing, pushed off - and the raft flew with such speed that it seemed that the coastal hills, trees and villages were rushing past.

The raftmen did not even have time to look back when they arrived in Cologne, where they usually sold their timber. But then Michel said to them:

“Well, you are smart merchants, how I look at you! What do you think - the local inhabitants themselves need as much wood as we float from our Black Forest? No matter how! They buy it from you at half price, and then resell it at exorbitant prices to the Dutch. Let's put the small logs on sale here, and let's drive the big ones further, to Holland, and we ourselves will sell them to the shipbuilders there. What the owner follows at local prices, he will receive in full. And what we gain beyond that will be ours.”

He did not have to persuade the rafters for a long time. Everything was done exactly according to his word.

The raftmen drove the master's goods to Rotterdam and there they sold it four times more expensive than they were given in Cologne!

Mikhel set aside a quarter of the proceeds for the owner, and divided three-quarters among the rafters. And those in all their lives did not happen to see so much money. The guys' heads were spinning, and they had such fun, drunkenness, card games! From night to morning and from morning to night ... In a word, they did not return home until they had drunk and lost everything to the last coin.

From that time on, Dutch taverns and taverns began to seem like a real paradise to our guys, and Michel the Giant (after this trip they began to call him Michel the Dutchman) became the real king of raftsmen.

More than once he took our raftmen there, to Holland, and little by little drunkenness, gambling, strong words - in a word, all sorts of nasty things migrated to these parts.

The owners for a long time did not know anything about the tricks of the raftsmen. And when the whole story finally came out and they began to inquire who the main instigator here was, Michel the Dutchman disappeared. They searched for him, they searched - no! He disappeared - as if he had sunk into the water ...

- Died, maybe? Peter asked.

- No, knowledgeable people say that he is still in charge of our forest. They also say that if you ask him properly, he will help anyone to get rich. And he has already helped some people ... Yes, only there is a rumor that he does not give money for nothing, but demands for them something more expensive than any money ... Well, I won’t say anything more about this. Who knows what is true in these tales, what is a fable? Only one thing, perhaps, is true: on such nights as this, Michel the Dutchman cuts and breaks old fir trees there, on the top of the mountain, where no one dares to cut. My father himself once saw how he, like a reed, broke a fir tree into four girths. Whose rafts these spruces then go to, I do not know. But I know that in the place of the Dutch, I would pay for them not with gold, but with grapeshot, because every ship into which such a log falls will certainly go to the bottom. And the whole point here, you see, is that as soon as Mikhel breaks a new spruce on the mountain, an old log, hewn from the same mountain spruce, cracks or jumps out of the grooves, and the ship leaks. That is why we hear about shipwrecks so often. Believe my word: if not for Michel, people would wander on the water as on dry land.

The old man fell silent and began to knock out his pipe.

“Yes…” he said again, rising from his seat. - That's what our grandfathers told about Michel the Dutchman ... And no matter how you turn it, all our troubles came from him. Of course, he can give wealth, but I would not want to be in the shoes of such a rich man, whether it be Ezekiel the Fat himself, or Shlyurker Skinny, or Wilm the Handsome.

While the old man was talking, the storm subsided. The hosts gave Peter a bag of leaves instead of a pillow, wished him good night, and everyone went to bed. Peter settled down on a bench under the window and soon fell asleep.

Never before had coal miner Peter Munch had such terrible dreams as on that night.

It seemed to him that Michel the Giant was cracking open the window and holding out to him a huge sack of gold. Mikhel shakes the sack right over his head, and the gold rings, rings - loud and tempting.

Now it seemed to him that the Glass Man, riding on a large green bottle, was riding all over the room, and Peter again heard the sly, quiet chuckle that had reached him in the morning from behind the big spruce.

And all night Peter was disturbed, as if arguing among themselves, by two voices. A hoarse thick voice hummed over the left ear:

- Gold, gold,

Pure - without deceit, -

Full gold

Fill your pockets!

Don't work with a hammer

Plow and shovel!

Who owns the gold

He lives richly!

- Under a shaggy spruce,

In a dark dungeon

Where the spring is born, -

An old man lives between the roots...

So what's next, Peter? How is it next? Oh, stupid, stupid collier Peter Munch! Can't remember such simple words! And he was also born on a Sunday, exactly at noon ... Just think of a rhyme for the word “Sunday”, and the rest of the words will come by themselves! ..

Peter groaned and groaned in his sleep, trying to remember or invent forgotten lines. He tossed and turned from side to side, but since he had not composed a single rhyme in his entire life, he did not invent anything this time either.

The collier woke up as soon as it was light, sat down with his arms crossed over his chest, and began to think about the same thing: what word goes with the word "Sunday"?

He tapped his forehead with his fingers, rubbed the back of his head, but nothing helped.

And suddenly he heard the words of a cheerful song. Three guys passed under the window and sang at the top of their lungs:

- Across the river in the village ...

Wonderful honey is brewed...

Let's have a drink with you

On the first day of Sunday!

Peter was on fire. So here it is, this rhyme for the word “Sunday”! It's full, isn't it? Did he misheard?

Peter jumped up and rushed headlong to catch up with the guys.

- Hey buddies! Wait! he shouted.

But the guys didn't even look back.

Finally Peter caught up with them and grabbed one of them by the arm.

- Repeat what you sang! he shouted, panting.

- Yes, what's the matter with you! – answered the guy. - What I want, then I sing. Let go of my hand now, or else...

- No, first tell me what you sang! Peter insisted and squeezed his hand even tighter.

Then two other guys, without thinking twice, pounced with their fists on poor Peter and beat him so badly that sparks fell from the poor fellow's eyes.

- Here's a snack for you! - said one of them, rewarding him with a heavy cuff. - You will remember what it is like to offend respectable people! ..

- I don't want to remember! said Peter, groaning and rubbing the bruised places. “Now, since you beat me up anyway, do yourself a favor and sing me that song you just sang.”

The guys burst out laughing. But then they still sang him a song from beginning to end.

After that, they said goodbye to Peter in a friendly way and went on their way.

And Peter returned to the lumberjack's hut, thanked the hosts for the shelter, and, taking his hat and stick, again went to the top of the mountain.

He walked and kept repeating to himself the cherished words “Sunday - wonderful, wonderful - Sunday” ... And suddenly, without knowing how it happened, he read the entire verse from the first to the last word.

Peter even jumped for joy and threw up his hat.

The hat flew up and disappeared into the thick branches of the spruce. Peter raised his head, looking for where it caught on, and froze in fear.

In front of him stood a huge man in the clothes of a raft-driver. On his shoulder he had a hook as long as a good mast, and in his hand he held Peter's hat.

Without saying a word, the giant tossed Peter his hat and walked beside him.

Peter timidly, askance looked at his terrible companion. He seemed to feel in his heart that this was Michel the Giant, about whom he had been told so much yesterday.

– Peter Munk, what are you doing in my forest? the giant suddenly said in a thunderous voice. Peter's knees shook.

“Good morning, master,” he said, trying not to show that he was afraid. - I go through the forest to my house - that's all my business.

– Peter Munch! the giant thundered again and looked at Peter in such a way that he involuntarily closed his eyes. Does this road lead to your house? You deceive me, Peter Munch!

“Yes, of course, it doesn’t lead quite directly to my house,” Peter murmured, “but it’s such a hot day today ... So I thought that it would be cooler to go through the forest, even further!”

“Don’t lie, collier Munch! - shouted Mikhel the Giant so loudly that cones rained from the fir trees on the ground. “Otherwise I’ll knock the spirit out of you with one click!”

Peter cringed all over and covered his head with his hands, expecting a terrible blow.

But Michel the Giant did not hit him. He only looked mockingly at Peter and burst out laughing.

- Oh, you're a fool! - he said. - I found someone to bow to! .. You think I didn’t see how you crucified yourself in front of this pathetic old man, in front of this glass vial. Lucky for you that you didn't know the end of his stupid spell! He is a miser, gives little, and if he gives something, you will not be happy with life. I'm sorry for you, Peter, I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart! Such a nice, handsome guy could go far, and you are sitting near your smoky pit and burning coals. Others throw thalers and ducats right and left without hesitation, but you are afraid to spend a copper penny... What a miserable life!

- What's true is true. Life is unhappy.

- That's the same! .. - said the giant Michel. - Well, yes, it’s not the first time for me to help out your brother. Simply put, how many hundred thalers do you need to get started?

He patted his pocket, and the money rattled there as loudly as the gold that Peter had dreamed of at night.

But now this ringing for some reason did not seem tempting to Peter. His heart sank in fear. He remembered the words of the old man about the terrible retribution that Mikhel demands for his help.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, “but I don't want to deal with you. I know who you are!

And with these words, he rushed to run as fast as he could.

But Michel the Giant did not lag behind him. He walked beside him with huge steps and muttered in a low voice:

“You will repent, Peter Munch!” I can see in your eyes that you will repent... It is written on your forehead. Don't run so fast, listen to what I'll tell you! This is the end of my domain...

Hearing these words, Peter rushed to run even faster. But getting away from Michel was not so easy. Peter's ten steps were shorter than Michel's one step. Having reached almost to the very ditch, Peter looked around and almost cried out - he saw that Mikhel had already raised his huge hook over his head.

Peter mustered the last of his strength and jumped over the ditch in one leap.

Michel stayed on the other side.

Cursing terribly, he swung and threw a heavy hook after Peter. But the smooth, apparently strong as iron, tree shattered into splinters, as if it had hit some invisible stone wall. And only one long chip flew over the ditch and fell near Peter's feet.

What, buddy, did you miss? Peter shouted and grabbed a piece of wood to throw it at Mikhel the Giant.

But at that very moment he felt that the tree came to life in his hands.

It was no longer a sliver, but a slippery poisonous snake. He wanted to throw her away, but she managed to wrap herself tightly around his arm and, swaying from side to side, brought her terrible narrow head closer and closer to his face.

And suddenly large wings rustled in the air.

A huge capercaillie hit the snake with its strong beak from the summer, grabbed it and soared into the sky. Mikhel the Giant gnashed his teeth, howled, shouted, and, shaking his fist at someone invisible, walked towards his lair.

And Peter, half-dead with fear, went on his way.

The path became steeper and steeper, the forest became thicker and more deaf, and finally Peter again found himself near a huge shaggy spruce on the top of the mountain.

He took off his hat, hung three low bows in front of the spruce - almost to the very ground - and in a breaking voice uttered the cherished words:

- Under a shaggy spruce,

In a dark dungeon

Where the spring is born, -

An old man lives between the roots.

He's incredibly rich

He keeps the cherished treasure.

Gets a wonderful treasure!

Before he had time to utter the last word, as someone's thin, sonorous, like crystal, voice said:

Hello, Peter Munch!

And at that very moment, under the roots of an old spruce, he saw a tiny old man in a black coat, in red stockings, with a large pointed hat on his head. The old man looked affably at Peter and stroked his little beard, so light, as if it were made of cobwebs. He had a blue glass pipe in his mouth, and he puffed on it every now and then, releasing thick puffs of smoke.

Without ceasing to bow, Peter went up and, to his considerable surprise, saw that all the clothes on the old man: a caftan, trousers, a hat, shoes - everything was made of multi-colored glass, but only this glass was very soft, as if it had not yet cooled down after melting .

“That rude Michel seems to have scared you a lot,” said the old man. “But I taught him a good lesson and even took away his famous hook from him.

“Thank you, Mr. Glass Man,” said Peter. “I really got scared. And you, right, were that respectable capercaillie who pecked at the snake? You saved my life! I would be lost without you. But, if you are so kind to me, do me the favor of helping me in one more thing. I am a poor coal miner, and life is very difficult for me. You yourself understand that if you sit near a coal pit from morning to night, you won’t go far. And I'm still young, I would like to know something better in life. Here I look at others - all people are like people, they are honored, and respected, and wealth ... Take, for example, Ezekiel Tolstoy or Wilm the Handsome, the king of dances - they have money like straw! ..

“Peter,” the Glass Man interrupted him sternly and, puffing on his pipe, blew a thick cloud of smoke, “never talk to me about these people. And don't think about them. Now it seems to you that there is no one in the whole world who would be happier than them, but a year or two will pass, and you will see that there is no one more unhappy in the world. And I will tell you again: do not despise your craft. Your father and grandfather were the most respectable people, and they were coal miners. Peter Munk, I don't want to think that it was your love of idleness and easy money that brought you to me.

While saying this, the Glass Man looked Peter straight in the eye.

Peter blushed.

“No, no,” he muttered, “I myself know that laziness is the mother of all vices, and all that sort of thing. But is it really my fault that my trade is not more to my liking? I am ready to be a glazier, a watchmaker, an alloyer - anything but a coal miner.

- You are a strange people - people! said the Glass Man, grinning. - Always dissatisfied with what is. If you were a glazier, you would want to become a rafter, if you were an rafter, you would want to become a glazier. Well, let it be your way. If you promise me to work honestly, without being lazy, I will help you. I have this custom: I fulfill three wishes of everyone who is born on Sunday between twelve and two o'clock in the afternoon and who can find me. I fulfill two desires, whatever they may be, even the most stupid ones. But the third wish comes true only if it is worth it. Well, Peter Munk, think carefully and tell me what you want.

But Peter didn't hesitate. He tossed up his hat for joy and shouted:

- Long live the Glass Man, the kindest and most powerful of all the forest spirits! .. If you, the wisest lord of the forest, really want to make me happy, I will tell you the most cherished desire of my heart. Firstly, I want to be able to dance better than the dancing king himself and always have as much money in my pocket as Ezekiel the Tolstoy himself has when he sits down at the gambling table ...

- Crazy! said the Glass Man, frowning. "Couldn't you have come up with something smarter?" Well, judge for yourself: what will be the use for you and your poor mother if you learn to throw out different knees and kick your legs like that slacker Wilm? And what is the use of money if you leave it at the gambling table, like that rogue Ezekiel the Fat? You ruin your own happiness, Peter Munch. But you can’t turn back what has been said - your desire will be fulfilled. Tell me, what else would you like? But look, this time be smarter!

Peter thought. He wrinkled his forehead and rubbed the back of his head for a long time, trying to come up with something clever, and finally said:

“I want to be the owner of the best and biggest glass factory in the Black Forest. And, of course, I need money to put it into motion.

- And it's all? asked the Glass Man, looking searchingly at Peter. – Is that all? Think carefully, what else do you need?

- Well, if you don't mind, add a couple more horses and a carriage to your second wish! That's enough...

“You are a stupid man, Peter Munch! exclaimed the Glass Man, and in anger he threw his glass pipe so that it hit the spruce trunk and shattered into smithereens. - “Horses, carriage”! .. You need mind-reason, do you understand? Mind-reason, not horses and a stroller. Well, yes, after all, your second desire is smarter than the first. The glass factory is a worthwhile business. If you drive it wisely, you will have horses and a carriage, and you will have everything.

“Well, I still have one more desire,” said Peter, “and I can wish myself intelligence, if it is so necessary, as you say.

“Wait, save your third wish for a rainy day.” Who knows what else lies ahead of you! Now go home. Yes, take this for a start, ”said the Glass Man and took out a purse full of money from his pocket. “There are exactly two thousand guilders here. Three days ago, old Winkfritz, owner of a large glass factory, died. Offer this money to his widow, and she will gladly sell you her factory. But remember: work feeds only those who love work. Yes, do not hang out with Ezekiel Tolstoy and go to the tavern less often. This will not lead to good. Well, goodbye. I will occasionally look to you to help with advice when you lack your mind-reason.

With these words, the little man pulled out of his pocket a new pipe made of the best frosted glass and stuffed it with dry spruce needles.

Then, biting it hard with his small, sharp teeth like a squirrel's, he took out a huge magnifying glass from another pocket, caught a ray of sunshine in it, and lit a cigarette.

A light smoke rose from the glass cup. Peter smelled of sun-warmed resin, fresh spruce shoots, honey, and for some reason the best Dutch tobacco. The smoke grew thicker and thicker and finally turned into a whole cloud, which, swirling and curling, slowly melted in the tops of the fir trees. And the Glass Man disappeared with him.

Peter stood in front of the old spruce for a long time, rubbing his eyes and peering into the thick, almost black needles, but he did not see anyone. Just in case, he bowed low to the big tree and went home.

He found his old mother in tears and anxiety. The poor woman thought that her Peter had been taken to the soldiers and she would not have to see him soon.

What was her joy when her son returned home, and even with a wallet full of money! Peter did not tell his mother about what really happened to him. He said that he had met a good friend in the city, who had loaned him two thousand guilders so that Peter could start a glass business.

Peter's mother had lived all her life among the coal miners and was accustomed to seeing everything around as black from soot, as a miller's wife gets used to seeing everything around as white from flour. So at first she was not very happy about the upcoming change. But in the end, she herself dreamed of a new, well-fed and calm life.

“Yes, whatever you say,” she thought, “it is more honorable to be the mother of a glass manufacturer than to be the mother of a simple coal miner. Neighbors Greta and Beta are no match for me now. And in the church from now on I will not sit by the wall where no one sees me, but on the front benches, next to the wife of the burgomaster, the mother of the pastor and the aunt of the judge...”

The next day Peter went to the widow of old Winkfritz at dawn.

They quickly got along, and the plant with all the workers passed to a new owner.

At first, Peter liked glasswork very much.

Whole days, from morning to evening, he spent at his factory. He used to come slowly, and, with his hands behind his back, as old Winkfritz did, he importantly walks around his possessions, looking into all corners and making comments first to one worker, then to another. He did not hear how behind his back the workers laughed at the advice of an inexperienced owner.

Peter's favorite thing was to watch the glassblowers work. Sometimes he himself took a long pipe and blew out of a soft, warm mass a pot-bellied bottle or some intricate, unlike anything figure.

But soon he got tired of it all. He began to come to the factory for just an hour, then every other day, every two, and finally no more than once a week.

The workers were very happy and did what they wanted. In a word, there was no order at the plant. Everything went upside down.

And it all started with the fact that Peter took it into his head to look into the tavern.

He went there on the very first Sunday after buying the factory.

The tavern was fun. Music played, and in the middle of the hall, to the surprise of all those gathered, the king of dances, Wilm the Handsome, famously danced.

And in front of a mug of beer, Ezekiel Tolstoy sat and played dice, throwing hard coins on the table without looking.

Peter hurriedly reached into his pocket to see if the Glass Man had kept his word. Yes, I did! His pockets were full of silver and gold.

“Well, that’s right, and he didn’t let me down about dancing,” Peter thought.

And as soon as the music began to play a new dance, he picked up some girl and paired up with her against Wilm the Handsome.

Well, it was a dance! Wilm jumped three-quarters and Peter four-quarters, Wilm whirled and Peter wheeled, Wilm arched his legs with a pretzel, and Peter twisted with a corkscrew.

Since this inn stood, no one had ever seen anything like it.

They shouted “Hurrah!” to Peter, and unanimously proclaimed him the king over all the kings of dancing.

When all the tavern patrons learned that Peter had just bought himself a glass factory, when they noticed that every time he passed the musicians in the dance, he threw a gold coin to them, there was no end to the general surprise.

Some said that he found a treasure in the forest, others that he received an inheritance, but everyone agreed that Peter Munch was the nicest guy in the whole area.

Having danced to his heart's content, Peter sat down next to Ezekiel Tolstoy and volunteered to play a game or two with him. He immediately bet twenty guilders and immediately lost them. But that didn't bother him at all. As soon as Ezekiel put his winnings in his pocket, Peter also added exactly twenty guilders to his pocket.

In a word, everything turned out exactly as Peter wanted. He wanted to always have as much money in his pocket as Ezekiel the Fat, and the Glass Man granted his wish. Therefore, the more money passed from his pocket into the pocket of fat Ezekiel, the more money became in his own pocket.

And since he was a very bad player and lost all the time, it is not surprising that he was constantly on the winning side.

Since then, Peter began to spend all days at the gambling table, both holidays and weekdays.

People got so used to it that they no longer called him the king of all dance kings, but simply Peter the Player.

But although he was now a reckless reveler, his heart was still kind. He distributed money to the poor without an account, just as he drank and lost without an account.

And suddenly Peter began to notice with surprise that he had less and less money. And there was nothing to be surprised. Since he began to visit the tavern, he completely abandoned the glass business, and now the factory brought him not income, but losses. Customers stopped turning to Peter, and soon he had to sell all the goods at half price to itinerant merchants just to pay off his masters and apprentices.

One evening Peter was walking home from the tavern. He drank a fair amount of wine, but this time the wine did not cheer him up at all.

He thought with horror of his imminent ruin. And suddenly Peter noticed that someone was walking beside him with short, quick steps. He looked back and saw the Glass Man.

- Oh, it's you, sir! Peter said through gritted teeth. Have you come to admire my misfortune? Yes, there is nothing to say, you generously rewarded me! .. I would not wish such a patron to my enemy! Well, what do you want me to do now? Just look, the head of the district himself will come and let all my property go for debts at a public auction. Indeed, when I was a miserable coal miner, I had fewer sorrows and worries ...

“So,” said the Glass Man, “so!” So you think I'm the one to blame for all your misfortunes? And in my opinion, you yourself are to blame for not being able to wish for anything worthwhile. In order to become the master of the glass business, my dear, you must first of all be an intelligent person and know the skill. I told you before and now I will tell you: you lack intelligence, Peter Munch, intelligence and ingenuity!

- What is there still mind! .. - Peter shouted, choking with resentment and anger. “I am no more stupid than anyone else, and I will prove it to you in practice, fir cone!”

With these words, Peter grabbed the Glass Man by the collar and began to shake him with all his might.

“Yeah, you got it, lord of the forests?” Come on, fulfill my third wish! So that right now in this very place there would be a bag of gold, a new house and... Ay-ay!.. - he suddenly yelled in a voice not his own.

The Glass Man seemed to burst into flame in his hands and lit up with a dazzling white flame. All his glass clothes became red-hot, and hot, prickly sparks splashed in all directions.

Peter involuntarily unclenched his fingers and waved his burned hand in the air.

At that very moment, a laughter sounded in his ear, light as the sound of glass, and everything was silent.

The Glass Man is gone.

For several days Peter could not forget this unpleasant meeting.

He would have been glad not to think about her, but his swollen hand constantly reminded him of his stupidity and ingratitude.

But little by little his hand healed, and his soul felt better.

“Even if they sell my factory,” he reassured himself, “I will still have a fat Ezekiel. As long as he has money in his pocket, and I will not be lost.

That's how it is, Peter Munch, but if Ezekiel doesn't have money, what then? But that didn't even cross Peter's mind.

In the meantime, exactly what he did not foresee happened, and one fine day a very strange story took place, which cannot be explained by the laws of arithmetic.

One Sunday, Peter, as usual, came to the tavern.

“Good evening, master,” he said from the doorway. “What, fat Ezekiel is already here?”

“Come in, come in, Peter,” said Ezekiel himself. - A place has been reserved for you.

Peter walked over to the table and put his hand in his pocket to see if fat Ezekiel was a winner or a loser. It turned out to be a big win. Peter could judge this by his own well-filled pocket.

He sat down with the players and so spent the time until the very evening, now winning the game, now losing. But no matter how much he lost, the money in his pocket did not decrease, because Ezekiel Tolstoy was lucky all the time.

When it got dark outside, the players began to go home one by one. Fat Ezekiel also got up. But Peter so persuaded him to stay and play another game or two that he finally agreed.

“Very well,” said Ezekiel. “But first I’ll count my money. Let's roll the dice. The stake is five guilders. It makes no sense less: child's play! .. - He pulled out his wallet and began to count the money. Exactly one hundred guilders! he said, putting the wallet in his pocket.

Now Peter knew how much money he had: exactly one hundred guilders. And I didn't have to count.

And so the game began. Ezekiel threw the dice first - eight points! Peter threw the dice - ten points!

And so it went: no matter how many times Ezekiel the Fat threw the dice, Peter always had exactly two points more.

Finally the fat man laid out his last five guilders on the table.

- Well, throw it again! he shouted. “But know this, I will not give up, even if I lose even now. You will lend me some coins from your winnings. A decent person always helps out a friend in difficulty.

- Yes, what is there to talk about! Peter said. My wallet is always at your service.

Fat Ezekiel shook the bones and threw them on the table.

- Fifteen! - he said. "Now let's see what you have."

Peter threw the dice without looking.

- I took it! Seventeen! .. - he shouted and even laughed with pleasure.

At that very moment, a muffled, hoarse voice rang out behind him:

This was your last game!

Peter looked around in horror and saw behind his chair the huge figure of Michiel the Dutchman. Not daring to move, Peter froze in place.

But fat Ezekiel didn't see anyone or anything.

"Give me ten guilders, and we'll keep playing!" he said impatiently.

Peter put his hand in his pocket as if in a dream. Empty! He fumbled in another pocket - and there is no more.

Understanding nothing, Peter turned both pockets inside out, but did not find even the smallest coin in them.

Then he remembered with horror about his first desire. The damned Glass Man kept his word to the end: Peter wanted him to have as much money as Ezekiel Tolstoy had in his pocket, and here Ezekiel Tolstoy did not have a penny, and Peter had exactly the same amount in his pocket!

The owner of the inn and Ezekiel the Fat looked at Peter, wide-eyed. They could not understand in any way what he did with the money he won. And since Peter could not answer anything worthwhile to all their questions, they decided that he simply did not want to pay off the innkeeper and was afraid to believe in a debt to Ezekiel Tolstoy.

This made them so furious that the two of them attacked Peter, beat him, tore off his caftan and pushed him out the door.

Not a single star was visible in the sky when Peter made his way to his home.

The darkness was such that even an eye was gouged out, and yet he discerned some huge figure next to him, which was darker than the darkness.

- Well, Peter Munch, your song is sung! said a familiar hoarse voice. “Now you see what it’s like for those who don’t want to listen to my advice. And it's his own fault! You were free to hang out with this stingy old man, with this miserable glass vial! .. Well, all is not lost yet. I'm not vindictive. Listen, I'll be on my mountain all day tomorrow. Come and call me Do not repent!

Peter's heart went cold as he realized who was talking to him. Michel the Giant! Again Michel the Giant! .. Headlong, Peter rushed to run, not knowing where.

When on Monday morning Peter came to his glass factory, he found uninvited guests there - the head of the district and three judges.

The chief politely greeted Peter, asked if he had slept well and how his health was, and then pulled out a long list from his pocket, in which were the names of everyone to whom Peter owed money.

“Are you going to pay all these people, sir?” the boss asked, looking sternly at Peter. "If you're going, please hurry up." I don't have much time, and it's a good three hours to jail.

Peter had to admit that he had nothing to pay, and the judges, without much discussion, began to inventory his property.

They described the house and outbuildings, the factory and the stable, the carriage and the horses. They described the glassware that stood in the pantries, and the broom with which they sweep the yard ... In a word, everything, everything that just caught their eye.

While they were walking around the yard, examining everything, feeling and evaluating everything, Peter stood aside and whistled, trying to show that this did not bother him in the least. And suddenly the words of Michel sounded in his ears: “Well, Peter Munch, your song is sung! ..”

His heart skipped a beat and his blood pounded in his temples.

“But it’s not so far to Spruce Mountain, closer than to the prison,” he thought. “If the little one didn’t want to help, well, I’ll go and ask the big one…”

And without waiting for the judges to finish their business, he stealthily went out of the gate and ran into the forest at a run.

He ran fast - faster than a hare from hounds - and he himself did not notice how he found himself on top of Spruce Mountain.

When he ran past the old big spruce, under which he had spoken to the Glass Man for the first time, it seemed to him that some invisible hands were trying to catch and hold him. But he broke free and ran recklessly on ...

Here is the ditch, beyond which the possessions of Michel the Giant begin! ..

With one leap, Peter jumped over to the other side and, barely catching his breath, shouted:

- Mister Michel! Mikhel the Giant! .. And before the echo had time to respond to his cry, a familiar terrible figure appeared in front of him as if from under the ground - almost as tall as a pine tree, in the clothes of a raftsman, with a huge hook on his shoulder ... Mikhel the Giant came to the call.

- Yeah, it's here! he said, laughing. “Well, have you been completely peeled off?” Is the skin still intact, or maybe even that skin was torn off and sold for debts? Yes, full, full, do not worry! Let's better come to me, we'll talk... Maybe we'll come to an agreement...

And he walked with sazhen steps uphill along the narrow stone path.

“Let's agree?..” thought Peter, trying to keep up with him. What does he want from me? After all, he himself knows that I have not a penny for my soul ... Will he make me work for myself, or what?

The forest path got steeper and steeper and finally broke off. They found themselves in front of a deep dark gorge.

Michel the Giant, without hesitation, ran down a steep cliff, as if it were a gentle staircase. And Peter stopped at the very edge, looking down with fear and not understanding what to do next. The gorge was so deep that from above even Michel the Giant seemed small, like a Glass Man.

And suddenly - Peter could hardly believe his eyes - Michel began to grow. He grew, grew, until he became the height of the Cologne bell tower. Then he extended his hand to Peter, as long as a hook, held out his hand, which was larger than the table in the tavern, and said in a voice booming like a funeral bell:

- Sit on my hand and hold on tight to my finger! Don't be afraid, you won't fall!

Terrified, Peter stepped onto the giant's hand and grabbed his thumb. The giant began to slowly lower his hand, and the lower he lowered it, the smaller he became.

When he finally put Peter on the ground, he was again the same height as always - much more than a man, but a little less than a pine tree.

Peter looked around. At the bottom of the gorge it was as light as above, only the light here was somehow inanimate - cold, sharp. It hurt his eyes.

There was no tree, no bush, no flower to be seen around. On the stone platform stood a large house, an ordinary house no worse and no better than those in which rich Black Forest raftmen live, only bigger, otherwise nothing special.

Mikhel, without saying a word, opened the door, and they entered the room. And here everything was like everyone else: a wooden wall clock - the work of Black Forest watchmakers - a painted tiled stove, wide benches, all kinds of household utensils on shelves along the walls.

Only for some reason it seemed that no one lived here - it blew cold from the stove, the clock was silent.

“Well, sit down, buddy,” Michel said. - Let's have a glass of wine.

He went into another room and soon returned with a large jug and two pot-bellied glass glasses - exactly the same as those made at Peter's factory.

Having poured wine for himself and his guest, he started talking about all sorts of things, about foreign lands where he had happened to visit more than once, about beautiful cities and rivers, about large ships crossing the seas, and finally provoked Peter so much that he wanted to die to travel around white light and look at all its curiosities.

“Yes, this is life!” he said. “But we, fools, sit all our lives in one place and see nothing but fir-trees and pines.

“Well,” said Mikhel the Giant, slyly narrowing his eyes. - And you are not booked. You can travel and do business. Everything is possible - if only there is enough courage, firmness, common sense ... If only a stupid heart does not interfere! .. And how it interferes, damn it! and your heart will suddenly tremble, pound, and you will chicken out for no reason at all. And if someone offends you, and even for no reason at all? It seems that there is nothing to think about, but your heart aches, it aches ... Well, tell me yourself: when they called you a deceiver last night and pushed you out of the tavern, did your head hurt, or what? And when the judges described your factory and house, did your stomach hurt? Well, tell me straight, what's wrong with you?

“Heart,” said Peter.

And, as if confirming his words, his heart clenched anxiously in his chest and beat often, often.

“Yes,” said Michel the Giant, and shook his head. “Someone told me that, as long as you had money, you did not spare it to all sorts of beggars and beggars. Is this true?

"True," said Peter in a whisper. Michel nodded his head.

“Yes,” he repeated again. “Tell me, why did you do it?” What good is this to you? What did you get for your money? Wishing you all the best and good health! So what, did you become healthier from this? Yes, half of this money thrown away would be enough to keep a good doctor with you. And this would be much more beneficial for your health than all the wishes put together. Did you know it? Knew. What made you put your hand in your pocket every time some dirty beggar offered you his crumpled hat? The heart, again the heart, not the eyes, not the tongue, not the arms and not the legs. You, as they say, took everything too close to your heart.

But how can you make sure that doesn't happen? Peter asked. - You can’t command your heart! .. And now - I would so like it to stop trembling and hurting. And it trembles and hurts.

Michel laughed.

- Of course! - he said. "Where can you deal with him?" Stronger people and those can not cope with all his whims and quirks. You know what, brother, you better give it to me. See how I handle it.

- What? Peter screamed in horror. - Give you my heart? .. But I'll die on the spot. No, no, no way!

- Empty! Michel said. “That is, if one of your gentlemen surgeons took it into his head to take out your heart, then, of course, you would not live even a minute. Well, I'm different. And you will be alive and healthy as never before. Yes, come here, look with your own eyes ... You will see for yourself that there is nothing to be afraid of.

He got up, opened the door to the next room, and beckoned to Peter with his hand:

- Come in here, buddy, don't be afraid! There is something to see here.

Peter crossed the threshold and involuntarily stopped, not daring to believe his eyes.

His heart clenched so hard in his chest that he could barely catch his breath.

Along the walls on long wooden shelves stood rows of glass jars filled to the very brim with some kind of transparent liquid.

And in each jar was a human heart. On top of the label, glued to the glass, was written the name and nickname of the one in whose chest it used to beat.

Peter walked slowly along the shelves, reading label after label. On one was written: “the heart of the head of the district”, on the other - “the heart of the chief forester”. On the third, simply - "Ezekiel the Fat", on the fifth - "the king of dances."

In a word, there are many hearts and many respectable names known throughout the region.

“You see,” said Mikhel the Giant, “not one of these hearts shrinks anymore either from fear or from grief. Their former owners got rid once and for all of all worries, anxieties, heart defects and feel great since they evicted the restless tenant from their chest.

“Yes, but what do they have in their chest instead of a heart now?” stammered Peter, whose head was spinning from everything he had seen and heard.

“That’s it,” Michel replied calmly. He opened a drawer and pulled out a stone heart.

- This is? Peter asked, out of breath, and a cold shiver ran down his back. – Marble heart?.. But it must be very cold in the chest, right?

- Of course, it is a little cold, - said Mikhel, - but it is a very pleasant coolness. And why, in fact, the heart must certainly be hot? In winter, when it's cold, cherry liqueur warms much better than the warmest heart. And in the summer, when it’s already stuffy and hot, you won’t believe how nicely such a marble heart refreshes. And the main thing is that it won’t beat in you either from fear, or from anxiety, or from stupid pity. Very comfortably!

Peter shrugged.

"And that's all, why did you call me?" he asked the giant. “To tell you the truth, this is not what I expected from you. I need money, and you offer me a stone.

“Well, I think a hundred thousand guilders will be enough for you for the first time,” said Michel. “If you manage to profitably put them into circulation, you can become a real rich man.

“A hundred thousand!” shouted the poor collier in disbelief, and his heart began to beat so violently that he involuntarily held it with his hand. - Don't stab yourself, you restless one! Soon I'll be done with you forever... Mr. Michel, I agree to everything! Give me the money and your stone, and you can keep this stupid drummer.

“I knew that you were a guy with a head,” Michel said with a friendly smile. - On this occasion, you should drink. And then we'll get down to business.

They sat down at the table and drank a glass of strong, thick, like blood, wine, then another glass, another glass, and so on until the large jug was completely empty.

There was a roaring in Peter's ears and, dropping his head into his hands, he fell into a dead sleep.

Peter was awakened by the cheerful sounds of a mail horn. He sat in a beautiful carriage. The horses thumped their hooves, and the carriage rolled quickly. Looking out of the window, he saw far behind the mountains of the Black Forest in a haze of blue fog.

At first he could not believe that it was himself, coal miner Peter Munch, sitting on soft cushions in a rich lordly carriage. Yes, and the dress he was wearing was such as he had never dreamed of ... And yet it was he, the coal miner Peter Munch! ..

Peter thought for a moment. Here he is, for the first time in his life, leaving these mountains and valleys, overgrown with spruce forests. But for some reason, he is not at all sorry to leave his native places. And the thought that he had left his old mother alone, in need and anxiety, without saying a single word of farewell to her, also did not sadden him at all.

“Oh, yes,” he suddenly remembered, “because now I have a heart of stone! .. Thanks to Michel the Dutchman - he saved me from all these tears, sighs, regrets ...”

He put his hand to his chest and felt only a slight chill. The stone heart did not beat.

Well, he kept his word about the heart, Peter thought. “But what about money?”

He began to inspect the carriage, and among the heap of all sorts of traveling things he found a large leather bag, tightly stuffed with gold and checks for trading houses in all large cities.

“Well, now everything is in order,” thought Peter and sat comfortably among the soft leather pillows.

Thus began the new life of Mr. Peter Munch.

For two years he traveled around the wide world, saw a lot, but did not notice anything, except for postal stations, signs on houses and hotels in which he stayed.

However, Peter always hired a person who showed him the sights of each city.

His eyes looked at beautiful buildings, pictures and gardens, his ears listened to music, merry laughter, intelligent conversations, but nothing interested or pleased him, because his heart always remained cold.

His only pleasure was that he could eat well and sleep sweetly.

However, for some reason, all the dishes soon became boring to him, and sleep began to flee from him. And at night, tossing and turning from side to side, he often recalled how well he slept in the forest near the coal pit and how delicious the miserable dinner his mother brought from home was.

He was never sad now, but he was never happy either.

If others laughed in front of him, he only stretched his lips out of politeness.

It even seemed to him sometimes that he had simply forgotten how to laugh, and after all, before, it used to be that any trifle could make him laugh.

In the end, he became so bored that he decided to return home. Does it matter where you get bored?

When he again saw the dark forests of the Black Forest and the good-natured faces of his countrymen, the blood rushed to his heart for a moment, and it even seemed to him that he would now be delighted. Not! The stone heart remained as cold as it was. A stone is a stone.

Returning to his native places, Peter first of all went to see Michel the Dutchman. He received him in a friendly manner.

- Hello, buddy! - he said. - Well, did you have a good trip? Did you see the white light?

- Yes, how can I tell you ... - Peter answered. “Of course, I saw a lot, but all this is nonsense, sheer boredom ... In general, I must tell you, Mikhel, that this pebble that you awarded me is not such a find. Of course, it saves me a lot of trouble. I'm never angry, I'm not sad, but I'm never happy either. It's like I'm half-living... Can't you make him a little more alive? Better yet, give me back my old heart. In twenty-five years I had become rather accustomed to it, and although it sometimes played pranks, it still had a cheerful, glorious heart.

Michel the Giant laughed.

“Well, you are a fool, Peter Munch, as I see it,” he said. - I traveled, I traveled, but I didn’t pick up my mind. Do you know why you're bored? From idleness. And you bring down everything on the heart. The heart has absolutely nothing to do with it. You better listen to me: build yourself a house, get married, put money into circulation. When every guilder turns into ten, you will have as much fun as ever. Even a stone will be happy with money.

Peter agreed with him without much argument. Michel the Dutchman immediately gave him another hundred thousand guilders, and they parted on friendly terms.

Soon a rumor spread throughout the Black Forest that the coal miner Peter Munch had returned home even richer than he had been before his departure.

And then something happened that usually happens in such cases. He again became a welcome guest in the tavern, everyone bowed to him, hurried to shake hands, everyone was glad to call him their friend.

He left the glass business and began to trade in timber. But that was just for show.

In fact, he traded not in timber, but in money: he lent them and received them back with interest.

Little by little, half of the Black Forest was in his debt.

With the head of the district, he was now familiar. And as soon as Peter only hinted that someone had not paid him the money on time, the judges instantly flew into the house of the unfortunate debtor, described everything, evaluated and sold it under the hammer. Thus every gulden that Peter received from Michiel the Dutchman very soon turned into ten.

True, at first, Mr. Peter Munch was a little bothered by pleas, tears and reproaches. Entire crowds of debtors day and night besieged its doors. The men begged for a delay, the women tried to soften his stony heart with tears, the children asked for bread...

However, all this was settled as well as possible when Peter acquired two huge shepherd dogs. As soon as they were released from the chain, all this, in Peter's words, "cat music" stopped in an instant.

But what annoyed him most of all was the “old woman” (as he called his mother, Mrs. Munch).

When Peter returned from his wanderings, rich again and respected by everyone, he did not even go into her poor hut.

Old, half-starved, sick, she came to his yard, leaning on a stick, and timidly stopped at the threshold.

She did not dare to ask strangers, so as not to disgrace her rich son, and every Saturday she came to his door, waiting for alms and not daring to enter the house, from where she had already been kicked out once.

Seeing the old woman from the window, Peter, frowning angrily, took out several copper coins from his pocket, wrapped them in a piece of paper and, calling the servant, sent them to his mother. He heard how she thanked him in a trembling voice and wished him every well-being, he heard how, coughing and tapping with a stick, she made her way past his windows, but he only thought that he had again wasted a few pennies.

Needless to say, now it was no longer the same Peter Munch, a reckless merry fellow who threw money to wandering musicians without counting and was always ready to help the first poor person he met. The current Peter Munch knew the value of money well and did not want to know anything else.

Every day he became richer and richer, but he did not become more cheerful.

And so, remembering the advice of Michel the Giant, he decided to marry.

Peter knew that any respectable person in the Black Forest would gladly give his daughter for him, but he was picky. He wanted everyone to praise his choice and envy his happiness. He traveled the whole region, looked into all corners and nooks and crannies, looked at all the brides, but not one of them seemed to him worthy to become the wife of Mr. Munch.

Finally, at a party, he was told that the most beautiful and modest girl in the entire Black Forest was Lisbeth, the daughter of a poor woodcutter. But she never goes to dances, sits at home, sews, runs the house and takes care of her old father. There is no better bride not only in these places, but in the whole world.

Without putting things off, Peter got ready and went to the beauty's father. The poor woodcutter was very surprised to see such an important gentleman. But he was even more surprised when he learned that this important gentleman wanted to woo his daughter.

How was it not to seize such happiness!

The old man decided that his sorrows and worries had come to an end, and, without thinking twice, gave Peter his consent, without even asking the beautiful Lizbeth.

And the beautiful Lisbeth was a submissive daughter. She unquestioningly fulfilled the will of her father and became Mrs. Munch.

But the poor thing had a sad life in the rich house of her husband. All the neighbors considered her an exemplary hostess, and she could not please Mr. Peter in any way.

She had a good heart, and, knowing that the chests in the house were bursting with all sorts of good things, she did not consider it a sin to feed some poor old woman, to take out a glass of wine to a passing old man, or to give a few small coins to the neighbor's children for sweets.

But when Peter once found out about this, he turned purple with anger and said:

“How dare you throw my stuff left and right? Have you forgotten that you yourself are a beggar?.. See to it that this is the last time, or else ...

And he looked at her so that the heart of poor Lisbeth turned cold in her chest. She wept bitterly and went to her room.

Since then, whenever some poor person passed by their house, Lisbeth closed the window or turned away so as not to see someone else's poverty. But she never dared to disobey her harsh husband.

No one knew how many tears she shed at night, thinking about Peter's cold, pitiless heart, but everyone now knew that Madame Munch would not give a dying man a sip of water and a hungry crust of bread. She was known as the meanest housewife in the Black Forest.

One day Lisbeth was sitting in front of the house, spinning yarn and humming a song. Her heart was light and cheerful that day, because the weather was excellent, and Mr. Peter was away on business.

And suddenly she saw that some old old man was walking along the road. Bent over in three deaths, he dragged a large, tightly stuffed bag on his back.

The old man kept stopping to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his forehead.

“Poor man,” thought Lisbeth, “how hard it is for him to bear such an unbearable burden!”

And the old man, going up to her, dropped his huge bag on the ground, sank heavily on it and said in a barely audible voice:

- Be merciful, mistress! Give me a sip of water. I was so exhausted that I just fell off my feet.

“How can you carry such weights at your age!” Lisbeth said.

- What can you do! Poverty! .. - answered the old man. “You have to live with something. Of course, for such a rich woman as you, this is difficult to understand. Here you, probably, except cream, and do not drink anything, and I will say thank you for a sip of water.

Without answering, Lisbeth ran into the house and poured a ladle full of water. She was about to take it to a passerby, but suddenly, before reaching the threshold, she stopped and returned to the room again. Opening the cupboard, she took out a large patterned mug, filled it to the brim with wine, and, covering the top with fresh, freshly baked bread, brought the old man out.

“Here,” she said, “refresh yourself for the journey.” The old man looked at Lisbeth with surprise with his faded, glassy eyes. He drank the wine slowly, broke off a piece of bread, and said in a trembling voice:

“I am an old man, but in my lifetime I have seen few people with such a kind heart as yours. And kindness never goes unrewarded...

And she will receive her reward now! A terrible voice boomed from behind them.

They turned around and saw Mr. Peter.

- So that's how you are! .. - he said through his teeth, clutching the whip in his hands and approaching Lizbeth. - You pour the best wine from my cellar into my favorite mug and treat some dirty tramps ... Here's to you! Get your reward!..

He swung and with all his strength hit his wife on the head with a heavy ebony whip.

Before she could even scream, Lisbeth fell into the old man's arms.

A stone heart knows neither regret nor repentance. But then even Peter felt uneasy, and he rushed to Lisbeth to lift her up.

- Do not work, collier Munch! the old man suddenly said in a voice well known to Peter. “You broke the most beautiful flower in the Black Forest, and it will never bloom again.

Peter involuntarily recoiled.

“So it’s you, Mr. Glass Man!” he whispered in horror. - Well, what's done, you can't turn it back. But I hope at least you don't denounce me to court...

- To court? The Glass Man smiled bitterly. - No, I know your friends - judges too well ... Who could sell his heart, he will sell his conscience without hesitation. I will judge you myself!

Peter's eyes darkened at those words.

"Don't judge me, you old curmudgeon!" he shouted, shaking his fists. - It was you who killed me! Yes, yes, you, and no one else! By your grace, I went to bow to Michel the Dutchman. And now you yourself must answer to me, and not I to you! ..

And he swung his whip beside himself. But his hand remained frozen in the air.

Before his eyes, the Glass Man suddenly began to grow. He grew more and more, until he blocked the house, the trees, even the sun ... His eyes threw sparks and were brighter than the brightest flame. He breathed - and the scorching heat penetrated Peter through, so that even his stony heart warmed and trembled, as if beating again. No, even Michel the Giant had never seemed so scary to him!

Peter fell to the ground and covered his head with his hands to protect himself from the revenge of the angry Glass Man, but suddenly he felt that a huge hand, tenacious like the claws of a kite, grabbed him, lifted him high into the air and, whirling like the wind twists a dry blade of grass, threw him to the ground .

“Miserable worm!” boomed a thunderous voice above him. “I could burn you on the spot!” But, so be it, for the sake of this poor, meek woman, I give you seven more days of life. If during these days you do not repent - beware! ..

It was as if a fiery whirlwind rushed over Peter - and everything was quiet.

In the evening, people passing by saw Peter lying on the ground at the threshold of his house.

He was as pale as a dead man, his heart was not beating, and the neighbors had already decided that he was dead (after all, they did not know that his heart was not beating, because it was made of stone). But then someone noticed that Peter was still breathing. They brought water, moistened his forehead, and he woke up...

– Lizbeth! Where is Lizbeth? he asked in a hoarse whisper.

But no one knew where she was.

He thanked the people for their help and entered the house. Lisbeth was not there either.

Peter was completely taken aback. What does this mean? Where did she disappear to? Dead or alive, she must be here.

So several days passed. From morning to night he wandered around the house, not knowing what to do. And at night, as soon as he closed his eyes, he was awakened by a quiet voice:

“Peter, get yourself a warm heart!” Get yourself a warm heart, Peter!

He told his neighbors that his wife had gone to visit her father for a few days. Of course they believed him. But sooner or later they will find out that this is not true. What to say then? And the days allotted to him, so that he would repent, went on and on, and the hour of reckoning was approaching. But how could he repent when his stony heart knew no remorse? Oh, if only he could win a hotter heart!

And so, when the seventh day was already running out, Peter made up his mind. He put on a festive camisole, a hat, jumped on a horse and galloped to Spruce Mountain.

Where the frequent spruce forest began, he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and himself, clinging to thorny branches, climbed up.

He stopped near a large spruce, took off his hat, and, with difficulty remembering the words, said slowly:

- Under a shaggy spruce,

In a dark dungeon

Where the spring is born, -

An old man lives between the roots.

He's incredibly rich

He keeps the cherished treasure.

Who was born on Sunday

Receives a wonderful treasure.

And the Glass Man appeared. But now he was all in black: a coat of black frosted glass, black trousers, black stockings... A black crystal ribbon wrapped around his hat.

He barely glanced at Peter and asked in an indifferent voice:

– What do you want from me, Peter Munch?

“I have one more wish left, Mr. Glass Man,” said Peter, not daring to raise his eyes. - I would like you to do it.

– How can a stone heart have desires! replied the Glass Man. “You already have everything that people like you need. And if you still lack something, ask your friend Michel. I can hardly help you.

“But you yourself promised me three wishes. One more thing is left for me!

- I promised to fulfill your third wish, only if it is not reckless. Well, tell me, what else did you come up with?

“I would like… I would like…” Peter began in a broken voice. “Mr. Glass Man!” Take this dead stone out of my chest and give me my living heart.

- Did you make this deal with me? said the Glass Man. – Am I Michel the Dutchman? who distributes gold coins and stone hearts? Go to him, ask him for your heart!

Peter shook his head sadly.

“Oh, he won’t give it to me for anything. The Glass Man was silent for a minute, then he took his glass pipe out of his pocket and lit it.

“Yes,” he said, blowing smoke rings, “of course, he will not want to give you your heart ... And although you are very guilty before people, before me and before yourself, your desire is not so stupid. I will help you. Listen: you won't get anything from Mikhel by force. But it is not so difficult to outwit him, even though he considers himself smarter than everyone in the world. Bend over to me, I'll tell you how to lure your heart out of him.

And the Glass Man said in Peter's ear everything that had to be done.

“Remember,” he added in parting, “if you again have a living, warm heart in your chest, and if it does not falter in the face of danger and is harder than stone, no one will overcome you, not even Michel the Giant himself. And now go and come back to me with a living, beating heart, like all people. Or don't come back at all.

So said the Glass Man and hid under the roots of the spruce, and Peter with quick steps went to the gorge where Michel the Giant lived.

He called his name three times, and the giant appeared.

What, he killed his wife? he said, laughing. - Well, okay, serve her right! Why didn’t you take care of your husband’s good! Only, perhaps, friend, you will have to leave our lands for a while, otherwise the good neighbors will notice that she is gone, raise a fuss, start all sorts of talk ... You will not be without trouble. Do you really need money?

“Yes,” Peter said, “and more this time. After all, America is far away.

“Well, it won’t be about money,” said Mikhel and led Peter to his house.

He opened a chest in the corner, pulled out several large bundles of gold coins, and spreading them out on the table, began to count.

Peter stood nearby and poured the counted coins into a bag.

- And what a clever deceiver you are, Michel! he said, looking slyly at the giant. “After all, I completely believed that you took out my heart and put a stone in its place.

- So how is it? Mikhel said and even opened his mouth in surprise. Do you doubt that you have a heart of stone? What, it beats with you, freezes? Or maybe you feel fear, grief, remorse?

“Yes, a little,” said Peter. “I understand perfectly well, buddy, that you simply froze it, and now it is gradually thawing ... And how could you, without causing me the slightest harm, take out my heart and replace it with a stone one? To do this, you need to be a real magician! ..

“But I assure you,” Mikhel shouted, “that I did it!” Instead of a heart, you have a real stone, and your real heart lies in a glass jar, next to the heart of Ezekiel Tolstoy. You can see for yourself if you want.

Peter laughed.

- There is something to see! he said casually. - When I traveled in foreign countries, I saw many wonders and cleaner than yours. The hearts you have in glass jars are made of wax. I have even seen wax people, let alone hearts! No, whatever you say, you don’t know how to conjure! ..

Mikhel stood up and threw back his chair with a crash.

- Go here! he called, opening the door to the next room. - Look what's written here! Right here - on this bank! "Heart of Peter Munch"! Put your ear to the glass - listen to how it beats. Can wax beat and tremble like that?

- Of course it can. Wax people walk and talk at fairs. They have some kind of spring inside...

- A spring? And now you will find out from me what kind of spring it is! Fool! Can't tell a wax heart from his own!

Mikhel tore off Peter's camisole, pulled a stone out of his chest and, without saying a word, showed it to Peter. Then he took the heart out of the jar, breathed on it, and carefully placed it where it should have been.

Peter's chest felt hot and cheerful, and the blood ran faster through his veins.

He involuntarily put his hand to his heart, listening to its joyful knock.

Michel looked at him triumphantly.

Well, who was right? - he asked.

“You,” said Peter. - I didn’t think to admit that you are such a sorcerer.

- That's the same! .. - answered Mikhel, grinning smugly. “Now come on, I’ll put it in its place.”

- It's right there! Peter said calmly. - This time you were fooled, Mr. Michel, even though you are a great sorcerer. I won't give you my heart anymore.

- It's not yours anymore! Michel shouted. - I bought it. Give me back my heart now, you pathetic thief, or I'll crush you on the spot!

And, clenching his huge fist, he raised it over Peter. But Peter didn't even bow his head. He looked Mikhel straight in the eyes and said firmly:

- Will not give it back!

Mikhel must not have expected such an answer. He staggered away from Peter as if he had stumbled while running. And the hearts in the jars thumped as loudly as a watch in a workshop knocks out of its frames and cases.

Mikhel looked around them with his cold, deadening gaze - and they immediately fell silent.

Then he looked at Peter and said softly:

- That's what you are! Well, full, full, there is nothing to pose as a brave man. Someone, but I know your heart, was holding it in my hands... A pitiful heart - soft, weak... I suppose it's trembling with fear... Let it come here, it will be calmer in the bank.

- I'm not giving it! Peter said even louder.

- We will see!

And suddenly, in the place where Mikhel had just stood, a huge slippery greenish-brown snake appeared. In an instant, she wrapped herself in rings around Peter and, squeezing his chest, as if with an iron hoop, looked into his eyes with the cold eyes of Michel.

- Will you give it back? the snake hissed.

- Will not give it back! Peter said.

At that very moment, the rings that had been squeezing him disintegrated, the snake disappeared, and flames burst out from under the snake with smoky tongues and surrounded Peter from all sides.

Fiery tongues licked his clothes, hands, face...

- Will you give it back, will you give it back? .. - the flame rustled.

- Not! Peter said.

He almost suffocated from the unbearable heat and sulfuric smoke, but his heart was firm.

The flame subsided, and streams of water, seething and raging, fell on Peter from all sides.

In the noise of the water, the same words were heard as in the hiss of the snake, and in the whistle of the flame: “Will you give it back? Will you give it back?"

Every minute the water rose higher and higher. Now she has come up to the very throat of Peter ...

- Will you give it up?

- Will not give it back! Peter said.

His heart was harder than stone.

The water rose like a frothy crest before his eyes, and he almost choked.

But then some invisible force picked up Peter, lifted him above the water and carried him out of the gorge.

He did not even have time to wake up, as he was already standing on the other side of the ditch, which separated the possessions of Michel the Giant and the Glass Man.

But Michel the Giant has not yet given up. In pursuit of Peter, he sent a storm.

Like cut grass, century-old pines fell and ate. Lightning split the sky and fell to the ground like fiery arrows. One fell to the right of Peter, two steps away from him, the other to the left, even closer.

Peter involuntarily closed his eyes and grabbed the trunk of a tree.

- Thunder, thunder! he shouted, panting for breath. “I have my heart, and I won’t give it to you!”

And suddenly everything went silent. Peter lifted his head and opened his eyes.

Mikhel stood motionless at the border of his possessions. His arms dropped, his feet seemed to be rooted to the ground. It was evident that the magical power had left him. It was no longer the former giant, commanding the earth, water, fire and air, but a decrepit, hunched over, eaten by years old man in the tattered clothes of a raft-driver. He leaned on his hook as if on a crutch, buried his head in his shoulders, shrunk...

With every minute in front of Peter Michel became smaller and smaller. Here he became quieter than water, lower than grass, and finally pressed himself completely to the ground. Only by the rustle and vibration of the stems could one see how he crawled away like a worm into his lair.

Peter looked after him for a long time, and then slowly walked to the top of the mountain to the old spruce.

His heart beat in his chest, glad that it could beat again.

But the further he went, the sadder he became in his soul. He remembered everything that had happened to him over the years - he remembered his old mother, who came to him for miserable alms, he remembered the poor people whom he poisoned with dogs, he remembered Lisbeth ... And bitter tears rolled from his eyes.

When he came to the old spruce, the Glass Man was sitting on a mossy tussock under the branches, smoking his pipe.

He looked at Peter with clear, glassy eyes and said:

“What are you crying about, collier Munch? Aren't you happy to have a living heart beating in your chest again?

“Ah, it doesn't beat, it's torn apart,” said Peter. - It would be better for me not to live in the world than to remember how I lived until now. Mother will never forgive me, and I can't even ask poor Lisbeth for forgiveness. Better kill me, Mr. Glass Man - at least this shameful life will come to an end. Here it is, my last wish!

“Very well,” said the Glass Man. - If you want it, let it be your way. Now I'll bring the axe.

He slowly knocked out the pipe and slipped it into his pocket. Then he got up and, lifting the shaggy thorny branches, disappeared somewhere behind a spruce.

And Peter, crying, sank down on the grass. He did not regret life at all and patiently waited for his last minute.

And then there was a slight rustle behind him.

“Coming! thought Peter. “Now it’s all over!” And, covering his face with his hands, he bowed his head even lower.

Peter raised his head and involuntarily cried out. Before him stood his mother and wife.

- Lisbeth, you're alive! cried Peter, breathless with joy. - Mother! And you are here! .. How can I beg your forgiveness?!

“They have already forgiven you, Peter,” said the Glass Man. Yes, you did, because you repented from the bottom of your heart. But it's not stone now. Go back home and be still a coal miner. If you begin to respect your craft, then people will respect you, and everyone will gladly shake your blackened from coal, but clean hand, even if you do not have barrels of gold.

With these words, the Glass Man disappeared. And Peter with his wife and mother went home.

There is no trace left of Mr. Peter Munch's rich estate. During the last storm, lightning struck directly into the house and burned it to the ground. But Peter did not at all regret his lost wealth.

It was not far from his father's old hut, and he merrily walked there, remembering that glorious time when he was a carefree and cheerful coal miner...

How surprised he was when he saw a beautiful new house instead of a poor, crooked hut. Flowers were blooming in the front garden, starched curtains were white in the windows, and inside everything was so tidy, as if someone was waiting for the owners. The fire crackled merrily in the stove, the table was set, and on the shelves along the walls multi-colored glassware shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow.

– This is all given to us by the Glass Man! exclaimed Peter.

And a new life began in a new house. From morning to evening, Peter worked at his coal pits and returned home tired, but cheerful - he knew that at home they were waiting for him with joy and impatience.

At the card table and in front of the tavern counter, he was never seen again. But he spent his Sunday evenings now more cheerfully than before. The doors of his house were wide open for guests, and the neighbors willingly entered the house of the collier Munch, because they were met by the hostesses, hospitable and friendly, and the owner, good-natured, always ready to rejoice with a friend of his joy or help him in trouble.

A year later, a big event took place in the new house: Peter and Lizbeth had a son, little Peter Munk.

- Who do you want to call godfathers? the old woman asked Peter.

Peter didn't answer. He washed the coal dust from his face and hands, put on a festive caftan, took a festive hat and went to Spruce Mountain.

Near the familiar old spruce, he stopped and, bowing low, uttered the cherished words:

- Under a shaggy spruce.

In a dark dungeon...

He never lost his way, did not forget anything, and said all the words, as they should, in order, from the first to the last. But the Glass Man did not show up.

“Mr. Glass Man!” Peter shouted. “I don’t need anything from you, I don’t ask for anything and I came here only to call you as godfathers to my newborn son! .. You hear me. Mister Glass Man?

But all around was quiet. The Glass Man did not respond even here.

Only a light wind ran over the tops of the fir trees and dropped a few cones at Peter's feet.

- Well. I’ll take these fir cones as a souvenir, if the owner of Spruce Mountain doesn’t want to show himself anymore, ”Peter said to himself and, bowing in parting to the big spruce, he went home.

In the evening, old mother Munch, putting away her son's festive caftan in the closet, noticed that his pockets were stuffed with something. She turned them inside out and several large spruce cones fell out.

Having hit the floor, the bumps scattered, and all their scales turned into brand new shiny thalers, among which there was not a single fake one.

It was a gift from the Glass Man to little Peter Munch.

For many more years, the family of the coal miner Munch lived in peace and harmony in the world. Little Peter has grown up, big Peter has grown old.

And when the youth surrounded the old man and asked him to tell something about the past days, he told them this story and always ended it like this:

- I knew in my lifetime both wealth and poverty. I was poor when I was rich, rich when I was poor. I used to have stone chambers, but then my heart was stone in my chest. And now I have only a house with a stove - but a human heart.

Here you can download or read the online book "Cold Heart" by Wilhelm Hauff for free.
Download the book "Frozen" for free

Wilhelm Hauff

Cold heart

Anyone who happened to visit the Black Forest will tell you that you will never see such tall and mighty fir trees anywhere else, nowhere else will you meet such tall and strong people. It seems as if the very air, saturated with sun and resin, made the inhabitants of the Black Forest unlike their neighbors, the inhabitants of the surrounding plains. Even their clothes are not the same as others. The inhabitants of the mountainous side of the Black Forest dress up especially intricately. The men there wear black coats, wide, finely pleated bloomers, red stockings, and large-brimmed pointed hats. And I must admit that this outfit gives them a very impressive and respectable look.
All the inhabitants here are excellent glassworkers. Their fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers were engaged in this craft, and the fame of the Black Forest glassblowers has long been around the world.
On the other side of the forest, closer to the river, the same Schwarzwalders live, but they are engaged in a different craft, and their customs are also different. All of them, as well as their fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers, are lumberjacks and raftsmen. On long rafts they float the forest down the Neckar to the Rhine, and along the Rhine all the way to the sea.
They stop at every coastal town and wait for buyers, and the thickest and longest logs are driven to Holland, and the Dutch build their ships from this forest.
Rafters are accustomed to the harsh wandering life. Therefore, their clothes are not at all like the clothes of glassmakers. They wear jackets of dark linen and black leather trousers over green, palm-wide, sashes. A copper ruler always sticks out of the deep pockets of their trousers - a sign of their craft. But most of all they are proud of their boots. Yes, and there is something to be proud of! Nobody in the world wears boots like that. They can be pulled above the knees and walked in them on water, as if on dry land.
Until recently, the inhabitants of the Black Forest believed in forest spirits. Now, of course, everyone knows that there are no spirits, but many legends about mysterious forest inhabitants have passed from grandfathers to grandchildren.
It is said that these forest spirits wore a dress exactly the same as the people among whom they lived.
The Glass Man - a good friend of people - always appeared in a wide-brimmed pointed hat, in a black camisole and trousers, and on his feet he had red stockings and black shoes. He was as tall as a one-year-old child, but this did not in the least interfere with his power.
And Michel the Giant wore the clothes of rafters, and those. who happened to see him, they assured him that a good fifty calfskins should have been used for his boots, so that an adult could hide in these boots with his head. And they all swore that they weren't exaggerating in the slightest.
One Schwarunald guy once had to get acquainted with these forest spirits.
About how it happened and what happened, you will now find out.
Many years ago there lived in the Black Forest a poor widow named and nicknamed Barbara Munch.
Her husband was a coal miner, and when he died, her sixteen-year-old son Peter had to take up the same craft. Until now, he only watched his father put out coal, and now he himself had a chance to sit days and nights near a smoking coal pit, and then drive around with a cart along the roads and streets, offering his black goods at all gates and scaring the children with his face and clothes darkened by coal dust.
The charcoal trade is so good (or so bad) that it leaves a lot of time for reflection.
And Peter Munch, sitting alone by his fire, like many other coal miners, thought about everything in the world. The forest silence, the rustling of the wind in the treetops, the lonely cry of a bird - everything made him think about the people he met while wandering with his cart, about himself and about his sad fate.
“What a pitiful fate to be a black, dirty coal miner! thought Peter. - Is it the craft of a glazier, a watchmaker or a shoemaker! Even the musicians who are hired to play at Sunday parties are honored more than us!” So, if it happens, Peter Munch will come out on a holiday on the street - cleanly washed, in his father's ceremonial caftan with silver buttons, in new red stockings and shoes with buckles ... Everyone, seeing him from afar, will say: “What a guy - well done ! Who would it be? And he will come closer, just wave his hand: \"Oh, but it's just Peter Munch, a coal miner! ..\" And he will pass by.
But most of all, Peter Munch envied the raftmen. When these forest giants came to them for a holiday, hanging half a pood of silver trinkets on themselves - all kinds of chains, buttons and buckles - and, legs wide apart, looked at the dances, puffing from arshin Cologne pipes, it seemed to Peter that there was no people are happier and more honorable. When these lucky ones put their hands into their pockets and pulled out handfuls of silver coins, Peter's breath spiraled, his head was troubled, and he, sad, returned to his hut. He could not see how these “wood-burning gentlemen” lost more in one evening than he himself earned in a whole year.
But three raftmen evoked in him special admiration and envy: Ezekiel the Fat, Schlyurker Skinny and Wilm the Handsome.
Ezekiel the Fat was considered the first rich man in the district.
He was unusually lucky. He always sold timber at exorbitant prices, the money itself flowed into his pockets.
Schlyurker Skinny was the most courageous person Peter knew. No one dared to argue with him, and he was not afraid to argue with anyone. In the tavern he ate and drank for three, and occupied a place for three, but no one dared to say a word to him when he, spreading his elbows, sat down at the table or stretched his long legs along the bench - he had a lot of money.
Wilm Handsome was a young, stately fellow, the best dancer among the raftsmen and glaziers. More recently, he was as poor as Peter, and served as a worker for timber merchants. And suddenly, for no reason at all, he got rich \" Some said that he found a pot of silver in the forest under an old spruce. Others claimed that somewhere on the Rhine he picked up a bag of gold with a hook.
One way or another, he suddenly became rich, and the raftsmen began to revere him, as if he were not a simple raftsman, but a prince.
All three - Ezekiel the Fat, Shlyurker Skinny and Wilm the Handsome - were not at all similar to each other, but all three equally loved money and were equally heartless towards people who had no money. And yet, even though they were disliked for their greed, everything was forgiven for their wealth. Yes, and how not to forgive! Who, except for them, could scatter ringing thalers to the right and left, as if they got money for free, like fir cones ?!
“And where do they get so much money from,” thought Peter, returning somehow from a festive feast, where he did not drink, did not eat, but only watched how others ate and drank. “Ah, if only I had at least a tenth of what Ezekiel Tolstoy drank and lost today!”
Peter went over in his mind all the ways he knew how to get rich, but could not think of a single one that was more or less correct.
Finally, he remembered stories about people who supposedly received mountains of gold from Michel the Giant or from the Glass Man.
Even when their father was alive, poor neighbors often gathered in their house to dream of wealth, and more than once they mentioned the little patron of glassblowers in their conversation.
Peter even remembered the rhymes that had to be said in the thicket of the forest, near the biggest spruce, in order to summon the Glass Man:

Under a shaggy spruce
In a dark dungeon
Where the spring is born
An old man lives between the roots.
He's incredibly rich
He keeps a cherished treasure...

There were two more lines in these rhymes, but no matter how Peter puzzled, he could never remember them.
He often wanted to ask one of the old people if they remembered the end of this spell, but either shame or fear of betraying his secret thoughts held him back.
“Yes, they probably don’t know these words,” he consoled himself. - And if they knew, then why didn't they themselves go into the forest and call the Glass Man! ..
In the end, he decided to start a conversation about this with his mother - maybe she will remember something.
But if Peter forgot the last two lines, then his mother remembered only the first two.
But he learned from her that the Glass Man is shown only to those who were lucky enough to be born on a Sunday between twelve and two o'clock in the afternoon.
- If you knew this spell from word to word, he would certainly appear to you, - said the mother, sighing. “You were born just on Sunday, at noon.
Hearing this, Peter completely lost his head.
“Come what may,” he decided, “and I must try my luck.”
And so, having sold all the coal prepared for buyers, he put on his father's holiday coat, new red stockings, a new Sunday hat, picked up a stick and said to his mother:
- I need to go to town. They say that soon there will be a recruitment for the soldiers, so, I think, you should remind the commander that you are a widow and that I am your only son.
His mother praised him for his prudence and wished him a happy journey. And Peter briskly walked along the road, but not into the city, but straight into the forest. He walked higher and higher along the slope of the mountain, overgrown with spruce, and finally reached the very top.
The place was quiet, deserted. There is no housing anywhere - no woodcutters' hut, no hunting hut.
Rarely does anyone visit here. Among the surrounding residents it was rumored that these places were unclean, and everyone tried to bypass Spruce Mountain.
Here grew the tallest, strongest firs, but for a long time the sound of an ax had not been heard in this wilderness. And no wonder! As soon as some woodcutter looked in here, misfortune would certainly happen to him: either the ax jumped off the ax handle and pierced his leg, or the chopped tree fell so quickly that the person did not have time to jump back and he was pounded to death, and the raft, into which at least one such fell tree, certainly went to the bottom along with the raftsman. Finally, people completely stopped disturbing this forest, and it grew so violently and densely that even at noon it was dark here as at night.
Peter was terrified when he entered the thicket. It was quiet all around - not a sound anywhere. He heard only the sound of his own footsteps. It seemed that even the birds did not fly into this dense forest twilight.
Near a huge spruce, for which the Dutch shipbuilders, without hesitation, would give more than one hundred guilders, Peter stopped.
“Probably the biggest spruce in the whole world! he thought. “So this is where the Glass Man lives.”
Peter removed his festive hat from his head, made a deep bow in front of the tree, cleared his throat, and said in a timid voice:
- Good evening, mister glass master!
But no one answered him.
“Perhaps it’s better to say the rhymes first,” thought Peter, and, stammering over every word, he muttered:

Under a shaggy spruce
In a dark dungeon
Where the spring is born
An old man lives between the roots.
He's incredibly rich
He keeps a cherished treasure...

And then - Peter could hardly believe his eyes! - from behind a thick trunk someone looked out. Peter managed to notice a pointed hat, a dark coat, bright red stockings... Someone's quick, keen eyes met Peter's for a moment.
Glass Man! It is he! It is, of course, he! But there was no one under the tree. Peter almost wept with grief.
- Mister glass master! he shouted. - Where are you? Mister glass master! If you think that I have not seen you, you are mistaken. I perfectly saw how you looked out from behind the tree.
Again, no one answered him. But it seemed to Peter that behind the Christmas tree someone laughed softly.
- Wait! shouted Peter. - I'll catch you! - And he found himself behind a tree with one jump. But the Glass Man was not there. Only a small fluffy squirrel flew up the trunk with lightning.
“Ah, if I knew the poems to the end,” Peter thought sadly, “the Glass Man would probably come out to me. No wonder I was born on a Sunday!..”
Wrinkling his brow, furrowing his brows, he tried his best to remember the forgotten words or even come up with them, but nothing came of it.
And while he was muttering the words of a spell under his breath, a squirrel appeared on the lower branches of the tree, right above his head. She was prettier, fluffing her red tail, and slyly looked at him, either laughing at him, or wanting to provoke him.
And suddenly Peter saw that the squirrel's head was not at all animal, but human, only very small - no larger than a squirrel's. And on his head is a wide-brimmed, pointed hat. Peter froze in amazement. And the squirrel was already again the most ordinary squirrel, and only on its hind legs it had red stockings and black shoes.
Here too: Peter could not stand it and rushed to run as fast as he could.
He ran without stopping, and only then took a breath when he heard the barking of dogs and saw in the distance smoke rising from the roof of a hut. Coming closer, he realized that out of fear he had lost his way and was running not towards the house, but in the opposite direction. Lumberjacks and raftsmen lived here.
The owners of the hut greeted Peter cordially and, without asking what his name was and where he came from, they offered him a lodging for the night, fried a large capercaillie for dinner - this is a favorite food of the locals - and brought him a mug of apple wine.
After dinner, the hostess and her daughters took the spinning wheels and sat down closer to the splinter. The children made sure that it did not go out, and watered it with fragrant spruce resin. The old host and his eldest son, smoking their long pipes, talked with the guest, and the younger sons began to carve spoons and forks out of wood.
By evening, a storm broke out in the forest. She howled outside the windows, bending hundred-year-old firs almost to the ground. Every now and then thunderclaps and a terrible crack were heard, as if trees were breaking and falling somewhere nearby.
“Yes, I wouldn’t advise anyone to leave the house at such a time,” said the old master, getting up from his seat and closing the door more firmly. Whoever goes out will never come back. This night Michel the Giant is cutting wood for his raft.
Peter was immediately alert.
- And who is this Michel? he asked the old man.
“He is the owner of this forest,” said the old man. “You must be from outside if you haven’t heard anything about it.” Well, I'll tell you what I know myself and what has come down to us from our fathers and grandfathers.
The old man settled himself comfortably, took a puff from his pipe, and began:
- About a hundred years ago - so, at least, my grandfather told - there was no people on the whole earth more honest than the Black Forest. Now, when there is so much money in the world, people have lost their shame and conscience. There is nothing to say about young people - the only thing they have to do is dance, swear and overspend. And it wasn't like that before. And the blame for everything - I said this before and now I will repeat it, even if he himself looked into this window - Michel the Velikan is to blame for everything. From him all the troubles and went.
So, it means that a rich lumber merchant lived in these places a hundred years ago. He traded with distant Rhenish cities, and his affairs went as well as possible, because he was an honest and industrious man.
And then one day a guy comes to hire him. No one knows him, but it is clear that the local one is dressed like a Black Forester. And almost two heads taller than everyone else. Our guys and the people themselves are not small, but this real giant.
The lumber merchant immediately realized how profitable it is to keep such a hefty worker. He gave him a good salary, and Mikhel (that was the name of this guy) stayed with him.
Needless to say, the lumber merchant did not lose.
When it was necessary to cut down the forest. Michel worked for three. And when the logs had to be dragged, the lumberjacks took six of them at one end of the log, and Mikhel lifted the other end.
After serving like this for half a year, Mikhel appeared to his master.
“Enough,” he says, “I cut down the trees. Now I want to see where they go. Let me go, master, once with the rafts down the river.
“Let it be your way,” said the owner. - Although the rafts need not so much strength as agility, and in the forest you would be more useful to me, but I do not want to prevent you from looking at the wide world. Get ready!”
The raft, on which Mikhel was supposed to go, was made up of eight links of selected timber. When the raft was already tied up, Michel brought eight more logs, but such large and thick ones as no one had ever seen. And he carried each log on his shoulder so easily, as if it were not a log, but a simple hook.
“Here I will swim on them,” Mikhel said. “And your chips will not stand me.”
And he began to knit a new link from his huge logs.
The raft was so wide that it barely fit between the two banks.
Everyone gasped when they saw such a colossus, and the owner of Mikhel was rubbing his hands and already wondering in his mind how much money could be gained this time from the sale of the forest.
To celebrate, they say, he wanted to give Mikhel a pair of the best boots that raftsmen wear, but Mikhel did not even look at them and brought his own boots from somewhere in the forest. My grandfather assured me that each boot was two pounds in weight and five feet in height.
And now everything was ready. The raft moved.
Up to this time, Michel, every day, surprised the lumberjacks, now it was the turn of the raftsmen to be surprised.
They then thought that their heavy raft would barely move with the flow. Nothing happened - the raft rushed along the river like a sailboat.
Everyone knows that rafters have the hardest time on turns: the raft must be kept in the middle of the river so that it does not run aground. But this time, no one noticed the turns. Mikhel, just a little, jumped into the water and with one push sent the raft to the right, then to the left, deftly skirting the shoals and pitfalls.
If there were no bends ahead, he ran across to the front link, stuck his huge hook into the bottom with a swing, pushed off - and the raft flew with such speed that it seemed that the coastal hills, trees and villages were rushing past.
The raftmen did not even have time to look back when they arrived in Cologne, where they usually sold their timber. But then Michel said to them:
“Well, you are smart merchants, how I look at you! What do you think - the local inhabitants themselves need as much timber as we float from our Black Forest? No matter how! They buy it from you at half price, and then resell it at exorbitant prices to the Dutch. Let's put some small logs on sale here, and let's drive the big ones further, to Holland, and sell them to the shipbuilders there ourselves. What the owner follows at local prices, he will receive in full. And what we help out in addition to that will be ours.”
He did not have to persuade the rafters for a long time. Everything was done exactly according to his word.
The raftmen drove the master's goods to Rotterdam and there they sold it four times more expensive than they were given in Cologne!
Mikhel set aside a quarter of the proceeds for the owner, and divided three-quarters among the rafters. And those in all their lives did not happen to see so much money. The guys' heads were spinning, and they had such fun, drunkenness, card games! From night to morning and from morning to night ... In a word, they did not return home until they had drunk and lost everything to the last coin.
From that time on, Dutch taverns and taverns began to seem like a real paradise to our guys, and Michel the Giant (after this trip they began to call him Michel the Dutchman) became the real king of raftsmen.
More than once he took our raftmen there, to Holland, and little by little drunkenness, gambling, strong words - in a word, all sorts of nasty things migrated to these parts.
The owners for a long time did not know anything about the tricks of the raftsmen. And when the whole story finally came out and they began to inquire who the main instigator here was, Michel the Dutchman disappeared. They searched for him, they searched - no! He disappeared - as if he had sunk into the water ...
- Died, maybe? Peter asked.
- No, knowledgeable people say that he is still in charge of our forest. They also say that if you ask him properly, he will help anyone to get rich. And he has already helped some people ... Yes, only there is a rumor that he does not give money for nothing, but demands for them something more expensive than any money ... Well, I won’t say anything more about this. Who knows what is true in these tales, what is a fable? Only one thing, perhaps, is true: on such nights as this, Michel the Dutchman cuts and breaks old firs there, on the top of the mountain, where no one dares to cut. My father himself once saw how he, like a reed, broke a fir tree into four girths. Whose rafts these spruces then go to, I do not know. But I know that in the place of the Dutch, I would pay for them not with gold, but with grapeshot, because every ship into which such a log falls will certainly go to the bottom. And the whole point here, you see, is that as soon as Mikhel breaks a new spruce on the mountain, an old log, hewn from the same mountain spruce, cracks or jumps out of the grooves, and the ship leaks. That is why we hear about shipwrecks so often. Believe my word: if not for Michel, people would wander on the water as on dry land.
The old man fell silent and began to knock out his pipe.
“Yes…” he said again, getting up from his seat. - That's what our grandfathers told about Michel the Dutchman ... And no matter how you turn it, all our troubles came from him. Of course, he can give wealth, but I would not want to be in the shoes of such a rich man, whether it be Ezekiel the Fat himself, or Shlyurker Skinny, or Wilm the Handsome.
While the old man was talking, the storm subsided. The hosts gave Peter a bag of leaves instead of a pillow, wished him good night, and everyone went to bed. Peter settled down on a bench under the window and soon fell asleep.
Never before had coal miner Peter Munch had such terrible dreams as on that night.
It seemed to him that Michel the Giant was cracking open the window and holding out to him a huge sack of gold. Mikhel shakes the bag right over his head, and the gold rings, rings - loud and tempting.
Then it seemed to him that the Glass Man, riding on a large green bottle, was riding around the whole room, and Peter again heard the sly, quiet chuckle that had reached him in the morning from behind the big fir tree.
And all night Peter was disturbed, as if arguing among themselves, by two voices. A hoarse thick voice hummed over the left ear:

Gold, gold
Clean - without deceit,
Full gold
Fill your pockets!
Don't work with a hammer
Plow and shovel!
Who owns the gold
He lives richly!

Under a shaggy spruce
In a dark dungeon
Where the spring is born
An old man lives between the roots...

So what's next, Peter? How is it next? Oh, stupid, stupid collier Peter Munch! Can't remember such simple words! And he was also born on a Sunday, exactly at noon ... Just think of a rhyme for the word “Sunday”, and the rest of the words will come by themselves! ..
Peter groaned and groaned in his sleep, trying to remember or invent forgotten lines. He tossed and turned from side to side, but since he had not composed a single rhyme in his entire life, he did not invent anything this time either.
The collier woke up as soon as it was light, sat down with his arms crossed over his chest, and began to think about the same thing: what word goes with the word "Sunday"?
He tapped his forehead with his fingers, rubbed the back of his head, but nothing helped.
And suddenly he heard the words of a cheerful song. Three guys passed under the window and sang at the top of their lungs:
- Across the river in the village ...
Wonderful honey is brewed...
Let's have a drink with you
On the first day of Sunday!
Peter was on fire. So here it is, this rhyme for the word “Sunday”! It's full, isn't it? Did he misheard?
Peter jumped up and rushed headlong to catch up with the guys.
- Hey buddies! Wait! he shouted.
But the guys didn't even look back.
Finally Peter caught up with them and grabbed one of them by the arm.
- Repeat what you sang! he shouted, panting.
- Yes, what's the matter with you! - answered the guy. - What I want, then I sing. Let go of my hand now, or else...
- No, first tell me what you sang! Peter insisted and squeezed his hand even tighter.
Then two other guys, without thinking twice, pounced with their fists on poor Peter and beat him so badly that sparks fell from the poor fellow's eyes.
- Here's a snack for you! - said one of them, rewarding him with a heavy cuff. - You will remember what it is like to offend respectable people! ..
- Still would not remember! said Peter, groaning and rubbing his bruised places. “Now, since you beat me up anyway, do yourself a favor and sing me that song you just sang.”
The guys burst out laughing. But then they still sang him a song from beginning to end.
After that, they said goodbye to Peter in a friendly manner and went on their way.
And Peter returned to the lumberjack's hut, thanked the hosts for the shelter, and, taking his hat and stick, again went to the top of the mountain.
He walked and kept repeating to himself the cherished words “Sunday - wonderful, wonderful - Sunday” ... And suddenly, without knowing how it happened, he read the entire rhyme from the first to the last word.
Peter even jumped for joy and threw up his hat.
The hat flew up and disappeared into the thick branches of the spruce. Peter raised his head, looking for where it caught on, and froze in fear.
In front of him stood a huge man in the clothes of a raft-driver. On his shoulder he had a hook as long as a good mast, and in his hand he held Peter's hat.
Without saying a word, the giant tossed Peter his hat and walked beside him.
Peter timidly, askance looked at his terrible companion. He seemed to feel in his heart that this was Michel the Giant, about whom he had been told so much yesterday.
- Peter Munk, what are you doing in my forest? - suddenly said the giant in a thunderous voice. Peter's knees shook.
"Good morning, master," he said, trying not to show that he was afraid. - I'm going through the woods to my house - that's all my business.
- Peter Munk! - the giant thundered again and looked at Peter so that he involuntarily closed his eyes. Does this road lead to your house? You deceive me, Peter Munch!
- Yes, of course, it does not lead quite directly to my house, - Peter babbled, - but today is such a hot day ... So I thought that it would be cooler to go through the forest, even further!
- Don't lie, collier Munch! - shouted Mikhel the Giant so loudly that cones rained down from the fir trees. “Or else I’ll knock the spirit out of you with one click!”
Peter cringed all over and covered his head with his hands, expecting a terrible blow.
But Michel the Giant didn't hit him. He only looked mockingly at Peter and burst out laughing.
- Oh, you're a fool! - he said. - I found someone to bow to! .. You think I didn’t see how you crucified yourself in front of this pathetic old man, in front of this glass vial. Lucky for you that you didn't know the end of his stupid spell! He is a miser, gives little, and if he gives something, you will not be happy with life. I'm sorry for you, Peter, I'm sorry from the bottom of my heart! Such a nice, handsome guy could go far, and you are sitting near your smoky pit and burning coals. Others throw thalers and ducats right and left without hesitation, but you are afraid to spend a copper penny... What a miserable life!
- What's true is true. Life is unhappy.
- That's the same! .. - said the giant Michel. - Well, yes, it’s not the first time for me to help out your brother. Simply put, how many hundred thalers do you need to get started?
He patted his pocket, and the money rattled there as loudly as the gold that Peter had dreamed of at night.
But now this ringing for some reason did not seem tempting to Peter. His heart sank in fear. He remembered the words of the old man about the terrible retribution that Mikhel demands for his help.
“Thank you, sir,” he said, “but I don't want to do business with you. I know who you are!
And with these words, he rushed to run as fast as he could.
But Michel the Giant did not lag behind him. He walked beside him with huge steps and muttered in a low voice:
- You still repent, Peter Munch! I can see in your eyes that you will repent... It is written on your forehead. Don’t run so fast, listen to what I tell you!.. Or it will be too late… Do you see that ditch over there? This is the end of my domain...
Hearing these words, Peter rushed to run even faster. But getting away from Michel was not so easy. Peter's ten steps were shorter than Michel's one step. Having reached almost to the very ditch, Peter looked around and almost cried out - he saw that Mikhel had already raised his huge hook over his head.
Peter mustered the last of his strength and jumped over the ditch in one leap.
Michel stayed on the other side.
Cursing terribly, he swung and threw a heavy hook after Peter. But the smooth, seemingly strong, like iron, tree shattered into splinters, as if hitting some kind of invisible stone wall. And only one long chip flew over the ditch and fell near Peter's feet.
- What, buddy, missed? Peter shouted and grabbed a piece of wood to throw it at Michel the Giant.
But at that very moment he felt that the tree came to life in his hands.
It was no longer a sliver, but a slippery poisonous snake. He wanted to throw her away, but she managed to wrap herself tightly around his arm and, swaying from side to side, brought her terrible narrow head closer and closer to his face.
And suddenly large wings rustled in the air.
A huge capercaillie hit the snake with its strong beak from the summer, grabbed it and soared into the sky. Mikhel the Giant gnashed his teeth, howled, shouted, and, shaking his fist at someone invisible, walked towards his lair.
And Peter, half-dead with fear, went on his way.
The path became steeper, the forest became thicker and more deaf, and finally Peter again found himself near a huge shaggy spruce on the top of the mountain.
He took off his hat, hung three low bows in front of the spruce - almost to the very ground - and in a breaking voice uttered the cherished words:

Under a shaggy spruce
In a dark dungeon
Where the spring is born
An old man lives between the roots.

He's incredibly rich
He keeps the cherished treasure.

Gets a wonderful treasure!

Before he had time to utter the last word, when someone's thin, sonorous, like crystal, voice said:
Hello, Peter Munch!
And at that very moment, under the roots of an old spruce, he saw a tiny old man in a black coat, in red stockings, with a large pointed hat on his head. The old man looked kindly at Peter and stroked his little beard - so light, as if it were made of cobwebs. He had a blue glass pipe in his mouth, and he puffed on it every now and then, releasing thick puffs of smoke.
Without ceasing to bow, Peter went up and, to his considerable surprise, saw that all the clothes on the old man: a caftan, trousers, a hat, shoes - everything was made of multi-colored glass, but only this glass was very soft, as if it had not yet cooled down after melting .
- That rude Michel seems to have scared you a lot, - said the old man. “But I taught him a good lesson and even took away his famous hook from him.
“Thank you, Mr. Glass Man,” said Peter. - I really got scared. And you, right, were that respectable capercaillie who pecked at the snake? You saved my life! I would be lost without you. But, if you are so kind to me, do me the favor of helping me in one more thing. I am a poor coal miner, and life is very difficult for me. You yourself understand that if you sit near a coal pit from morning to night, you won’t go far. And I'm still young, I would like to know something better in life. Here I look at others - all people are like people, they have honor, and respect, and wealth ... Take, for example, Ezekiel Tolstoy or Wilm the Handsome, the king of dances - they have money like straw! ..
“Peter,” the Glass Man interrupted him sternly and, puffing on his pipe, blew a thick cloud of smoke, “never talk to me about these people. And don't think about them. Now it seems to you that there is no one in the whole world who would be happier than them, but a year or two will pass, and you will see that there is no one more unhappy in the world. And I will tell you again: do not despise your craft. Your father and grandfather were the most respectable people, and they were coal miners. Peter Munk, I don't want to think that it was your love of idleness and easy money that brought you to me.
While saying this, the Glass Man looked Peter straight in the eye.
Peter blushed.
“No, no,” he muttered, “I myself know that laziness is the mother of all vices, and all that sort of thing. But is it really my fault that my trade is not more to my liking? I am ready to be a glazier, a watchmaker, an alloyer - anything but a coal miner.
- Strange you people - people! said the Glass Man, grinning. - Always dissatisfied with what is. If you were a glazier, you would want to become a rafter, if you were an rafter, you would want to become a glazier. Well, let it be your way. If you promise me to work honestly, without being lazy, I will help you. I have this custom: I fulfill three wishes of everyone who is born on Sunday between twelve and two o'clock in the afternoon and who can find me. I fulfill two desires, whatever they may be, even the most stupid ones. But the third wish comes true only if it is worth it. Well, Peter Munk, think carefully and tell me what you want.
But Peter didn't hesitate. He tossed up his hat for joy and shouted:
- Long live the Glass Man, the kindest and most powerful of all the forest spirits! .. If you, the wisest lord of the forest, really want to make me happy, I will tell you the most cherished desire of my heart. Firstly, I want to be able to dance better than the dancing king himself and always have as much money in my pocket as Ezekiel the Tolstoy himself has when he sits down at the gambling table ...
- Crazy! said the Glass Man, frowning. "Couldn't you think of something smarter?" Well, judge for yourself: what will be the use for you and your poor mother if you learn to throw out different knees and kick your legs like that slacker Wilm? And what is the use of money if you leave it at the gambling table, like that rogue Ezekiel the Fat? You ruin your own happiness, Peter Munch. But you can’t turn back what has been said - your desire will be fulfilled. Tell me, what else would you like? But look, this time be smarter!
Peter thought. He wrinkled his forehead for a long time and rubbed the back of his head, trying to come up with something clever, and finally said:
- I want to be the owner of the best and biggest glass factory in the Black Forest. And, of course, I need money to put it into motion.
- And it's all? asked the Glass Man, looking searchingly at Peter. - Is that all? Think carefully, what else do you need?
- Well, if you don't mind, add a couple more horses and a carriage to your second wish! That's enough...
- Stupid same you man, Peter Munch! exclaimed the Glass Man, and in anger threw his glass pipe so that it hit the spruce trunk and shattered. - “Horses, carriage”!.. You need mind, do you understand? The mind of the mind, not horses and a stroller. Well, yes, all the same, your second desire is smarter than the first. The glass factory is a worthwhile business. If you drive it wisely, you will have horses and a carriage, and you will have everything.
“Well, I still have one more desire,” said Peter, “and I can wish myself intelligence, if it is so necessary, as you say.
- Wait, save the third wish about a rainy day. Who knows what else lies ahead of you! Now go home. Yes, take this for a start, - said the Glass Man and took out a purse full of money from his pocket. “There are exactly two thousand guilders here. Three days ago, old Winkfritz, owner of a large glass factory, died. Offer this money to his widow, and she will gladly sell you her factory. But remember: work feeds only those who love work. Yes, do not hang out with Ezekiel Tolstoy and go to the tavern less often. This will not lead to good. Well, goodbye. I will occasionally look to you to help with advice when you lack your mind of reason.
With these words, the little man pulled out of his pocket a new pipe made of the best frosted glass and stuffed it with dry spruce needles.
Then, biting it hard with his small, sharp teeth like a squirrel's, he took out a huge magnifying glass from another pocket, caught a ray of sunshine in it, and lit a cigarette.
A light smoke rose from the glass cup. Peter smelled of sun-warmed resin, fresh spruce shoots, honey, and for some reason the best Dutch tobacco. The smoke grew thicker and thicker and finally turned into a whole cloud, which, swirling and curling, slowly melted in the tops of the fir trees. And the Glass Man disappeared with him.
Peter stood in front of the old spruce for a long time, rubbing his eyes and peering into the thick, almost black needles, but he did not see anyone. Just in case, he bowed low to the big tree and went home.
He found his old mother in tears and anxiety. The poor woman thought that her Peter had been taken to the soldiers and she would not have to see him soon.
What was her joy when her son returned home, and even with a wallet full of money! Peter did not tell his mother about what really happened to him. He said that he had met a good friend in the city, who had loaned him two thousand guilders so that Peter could start a glass business.
Peter's mother had lived all her life among the coal miners and was accustomed to seeing everything around as black from soot, as a miller's wife gets used to seeing everything around as white from flour. Therefore, at first she was not very happy about the upcoming change. But in the end, she herself dreamed of a new, well-fed and calm life.
“Yes, whatever you say,” she thought, “but to be the mother of a glass manufacturer is more honorable than to be the mother of a simple coal miner. Neighbors Greta and Beta are no match for me now. And in the church from now on I will not sit by the wall where no one sees me, but on the front benches, next to the wife of the burgomaster, the mother of the pastor and the aunt of the judge...”
The next day Peter went to the widow of old Winkfritz at dawn.
They quickly got along, and the plant with all the workers passed to a new owner.
At first, Peter liked glasswork very much.
Whole days, from morning to evening, he spent at his factory. He used to come slowly, and, with his hands behind his back, as old Winkfritz did, he importantly walks around his possessions, looking into all corners and making comments first to one worker, then to another. He did not hear how behind his back the workers laughed at the advice of an inexperienced owner.
Peter's favorite thing was to watch the glassblowers work. Sometimes he himself took a long pipe and blew out of a soft, warm mass a pot-bellied bottle or some intricate, unlike anything figure.
But soon he got tired of it all. He began to come to the factory for just an hour, then every other day, every two, and finally no more than once a week.
The workers were very happy and did what they wanted. In a word, there was no order at the plant. Everything went upside down.
And it all started with the fact that Peter took it into his head to look into the tavern.
He went there on the very first Sunday after buying the factory.
The tavern was fun. Music played, and in the middle of the hall, to the surprise of all those gathered, the king of dances, Wilm the Handsome, famously danced.
And in front of a mug of beer, Ezekiel Tolstoy sat and played dice, throwing hard coins on the table without looking.
Peter hurriedly reached into his pocket to see if the Glass Man had kept his word. Yes, I did! His pockets were full of silver and gold.
“Well, that's right, and he didn't let me down about dancing,” thought Peter.
And as soon as the music began to play a new dance, he picked up some girl and paired up with her against Wilm the Handsome.
Well, it was a dance! Wilm jumped three-quarters and Peter four-quarters, Wilm whirled and Peter wheeled, Wilm arched his legs with a pretzel, and Peter twisted with a corkscrew.
Since this inn stood, no one had ever seen anything like it.
They shouted “Hurrah!” to Peter, and unanimously proclaimed him the king over all the kings of dancing.
When all the tavern patrons learned that Peter had just bought a glass factory for himself, when they noticed that every time he passed the musicians in the dance, he threw a gold coin to them, there was no end to the general surprise.
Some said that he found a treasure in the forest, others that he received an inheritance, but everyone agreed that Peter Munch was the nicest guy in the whole area.
After dancing to his heart's content, Peter sat down next to Ezekiel Tolstoy and volunteered to play another game with him. He immediately bet twenty guilders and immediately lost them. But that didn't bother him at all. As soon as Ezekiel put his winnings in his pocket, Peter also added exactly twenty guilders to his pocket.
In a word, everything turned out exactly as Peter wanted. He wanted to always have as much money in his pocket as Ezekiel the Fat, and the Glass Man granted his wish. Therefore, the more money passed from his pocket into the pocket of fat Ezekiel, the more money became in his own pocket.
And since he was a very bad player and lost all the time, it is not surprising that he was constantly on the winning side.
Since then, Peter began to spend all days at the gambling table, both holidays and weekdays.
People got so used to it that they no longer called him the king of all dance kings, but simply Peter the Player.
But although he was now a reckless reveler, his heart was still kind. He distributed money to the poor without an account, just as he drank and lost without an account.
And suddenly Peter began to notice with surprise that he had less and less money. And there was nothing to be surprised. Since he began to visit the tavern, he completely abandoned the glass business, and now the factory brought him not income, but losses. Customers stopped turning to Peter, and soon he had to sell all the goods at half price to itinerant merchants just to pay off his masters and apprentices.
One evening Peter was walking home from the tavern. He drank a fair amount of wine, but this time the wine did not cheer him up at all.
He thought with horror of his imminent ruin. And suddenly Peter noticed that someone was walking next to him with short, quick steps. He looked back and saw the Glass Man.
- Oh, it's you, sir! Peter said through gritted teeth. - Have you come to admire my misfortune? Yes, there is nothing to say, you generously rewarded me! .. I would not wish such a patron to my enemy! Well, what do you want me to do now? Just look, the head of the district himself will come and let all my property go for debts at a public auction. Indeed, when I was a miserable coal miner, I had fewer sorrows and worries ...
- So, - said the Glass Man, - so! So, in your opinion, I am to blame for all your misfortunes? And in my opinion, you yourself are to blame for not being able to wish for anything worthwhile. In order to become the master of the glass business, my dear, you must first of all be an intelligent person and know the skill. I told you before and now I will tell you: you lack intelligence, Peter Munch, intelligence and ingenuity!
- What is there still mind! .. - Peter shouted, choking with resentment and anger. “I am no more stupid than anyone else, and I will prove it to you in practice, fir cone!”
With these words, Peter grabbed the Glass Man by the collar and began to shake him with all his might.
- Yeah, got caught, lord of the forests? Well, fulfill my third wish! So that right now in this very place there would be a bag of gold, a new house and ... Ai ai! .. - he suddenly yelled in a voice that was not his own.
The Glass Man seemed to burst into flame in his hands and lit up with a dazzling white flame. All his glass clothes became red-hot, and hot, prickly sparks splashed in all directions.
Peter involuntarily unclenched his fingers and waved his burned hand in the air.
At that very moment, a light laughter, like the sound of glass, rang out in his ear - and everything was silent.
The Glass Man is gone.
For several days Peter could not forget this unpleasant meeting.
He would have been glad not to think about her, but his swollen hand constantly reminded him of his stupidity and ingratitude.
But little by little his hand healed, and his soul felt better.
“Even if they sell my factory,” he reassured himself, “I will still have fat Ezekiel. As long as he has money in his pocket, and I will not be lost.
So it is so, Peter Munch, but if Ezekiel does not have money, what then? But that didn't even cross Peter's mind.
In the meantime, exactly what he did not foresee happened, and one fine day a very strange story took place, which cannot be explained by the laws of arithmetic.
One Sunday, Peter, as usual, came to the tavern.
“Good evening, master,” he said from the doorway. - What, fat Ezekiel already here?
“Come in, come in, Peter,” said Ezekiel himself. - A place has been reserved for you.
Peter walked over to the table and put his hand in his pocket to see if fat Ezekiel was a winner or a loser. It turned out to be a big win. Peter could judge this by his own well-filled pocket.
He sat down with the players and so spent the time until the very evening, now winning the game, now losing. But no matter how much he lost, the money in his pocket did not decrease, because Ezekiel Tolstoy was lucky all the time.
When it got dark outside, the players began to go home one by one. Fat Ezekiel also got up. But Peter tried so hard to persuade him to stay and play another game, that he finally agreed.
“All right,” said Ezekiel. - But first I'll count my money. Let's roll the dice. The stake is five guilders. It makes no sense less: child's play! .. - He pulled out his wallet and began to count the money. - Exactly one hundred guilders! he said, putting the purse in his pocket.
Now Peter knew how much money he had: exactly one hundred guilders. And I didn't have to count.
And so the game began. Ezekiel threw the dice first - eight points! Peter threw the dice - ten points!
And so it went: no matter how many times Ezekiel the Fat threw the dice, Peter always had exactly two points more.
Finally the fat man laid out his last five guilders on the table.
- Well, throw it again! he shouted. “But you know, I won’t give up, even if I lose even now. You will lend me some coins from your winnings. A decent person always helps out a friend in difficulty.
- Yes, what is there to talk about! Peter said. - My wallet is always at your service.
Fat Ezekiel shook the bones and threw them on the table.
- Fifteen! - he said. - Now let's see what you have.
Peter threw the dice without looking.
- My took! Seventeen! .. - he shouted and even laughed with pleasure.
At that very moment, a muffled, hoarse voice rang out from behind him:
- That was your last game!
Peter looked around in horror and saw behind his chair the huge figure of Michiel the Dutchman. Not daring to move, Peter froze in place.
But fat Ezekiel didn't see anyone or anything.
- Give me ten guilders, and we will continue the game! he said impatiently.
Peter put his hand in his pocket as if in a dream. Empty! He fumbled in another pocket - and there is no more.
Understanding nothing, Peter turned both pockets inside out, but did not find even the smallest coin in them.
Then he remembered with horror about his first desire. The damned Glass Man kept his word to the end: Peter wanted him to have as much money as Ezekiel Tolstoy had in his pocket, and here Ezekiel Tolstoy did not have a penny, and Peter had exactly the same amount in his pocket!
The owner of the inn and Ezekiel the Fat looked at Peter, wide-eyed. They could not understand in any way what he did with the money he won. And since Peter could not answer anything worthwhile to all their questions, they decided that he simply did not want to pay off the innkeeper and was afraid to believe in a debt to Ezekiel Tolstoy.
This made them so furious that the two of them attacked Peter, beat him, tore off his caftan and pushed him out the door.
Not a single star was visible in the sky when Peter made his way to his home.
The darkness was such that at least gouge out the eye, and yet he discerned next to him some kind of huge figure, which was darker than the darkness.
- Well, Peter Munch, your song is sung! said a familiar hoarse voice. “Now you see what it is like for those who do not want to listen to my advice. And it's his own fault! You were free to hang out with this stingy old man, with this miserable glass vial! .. Well, all is not lost yet. I'm not vindictive. Listen, I'll be on my mountain all day tomorrow. Come and call me Do not repent!
Peter's heart went cold as he realized who was talking to him. Michel the Giant! Again Michel the Giant! .. Breaking his head, Peter rushed to run, not knowing where.

When on Monday morning Peter came to his glass factory, he found uninvited guests there - the head of the district and three judges.
The chief politely greeted Peter, asked if he had slept well and how his health was, and then pulled out a long list from his pocket, in which were the names of everyone to whom Peter owed money.
“Are you going to pay all these people, sir?” the chief asked, looking sternly at Peter. - If you're going, please hurry up. I don't have much time, and it's a good three hours to jail.
Peter had to admit that he had nothing to pay, and the judges, without much discussion, began to inventory his property.
They described the house and outbuildings, the factory and the stable, the carriage and the horses. They described the glassware that stood in the pantries, and the broom with which they sweep the yard ... In a word, everything that caught their eye.
While they were walking around the yard, examining everything, feeling and evaluating everything, Peter stood aside and whistled, trying to show that this did not bother him in the least. And suddenly the words of Michel sounded in his ears: “Well, Peter Munch, your song is sung! ..”
His heart skipped a beat and his blood pounded in his temples.
“But it's not so far to Spruce Mountain, closer than to the prison,” he thought. “If the little one didn’t want to help, well, I’ll go ask the big one…”
And without waiting for the judges to finish their business, he stealthily went out of the gate and ran into the forest at a run.
He ran fast - faster than a hare from hounds - and he himself did not notice how he found himself on the top of Spruce Mountain.
When he ran past the old big spruce, under which he had spoken to the Glass Man for the first time, it seemed to him that some invisible hands were trying to catch and hold him. But he broke free and ran recklessly on ...
Here is the ditch, beyond which the possessions of Michel the Giant begin! ..
With one leap, Peter jumped over to the other side and, barely catching his breath, shouted:
- Mister Michel! Mikhel the Giant! .. And before the echo had time to respond to his cry, a familiar terrible figure appeared in front of him, as if from under the ground - almost as tall as a pine tree, in the clothes of a raftsman, with a huge hook on his shoulder ... Mikhel the Giant appeared at the call .
- Yeah, he did come! he said, laughing. - Well, have you been completely peeled off? Is the skin still intact, or maybe even that one was torn off and sold for debts? Yes, full, full, do not worry! Let's go to my place, we'll talk... Maybe we'll come to an agreement...
And he walked with sazhen steps uphill along the narrow stone path.
“Let's agree?..” thought Peter, trying to keep up with him. What does he want from me? After all, he himself knows that I have not a penny for my soul ... Will he make me work for myself, or what?
The forest path got steeper and steeper and finally broke off. They found themselves in front of a deep dark gorge.
Michel the Giant without hesitation ran down the sheer cliff, as if it were a gentle staircase. And Peter stopped at the very edge, looking down with fear and not understanding what to do next. The gorge was so deep that from above even Michel the Giant seemed small, like a Glass Man.
And suddenly - Peter could hardly believe his eyes - Michel began to grow. He grew, grew, until he became the height of the Cologne bell tower. Then he extended his hand to Peter, as long as a hook, held out his hand, which was larger than the table in the tavern, and said in a voice booming like a funeral bell:
- Sit on my hand and hold on tight to my finger! Don't be afraid, you won't fall!
Terrified, Peter stepped onto the giant's hand and grabbed his thumb. The giant began to slowly lower his hand, and the lower he lowered it, the smaller he became.
When he finally put Peter on the ground, he was again the same height as always - much more than a man, but a little less than a pine tree.
Peter looked around. At the bottom of the gorge it was as light as above, only the light here was somehow inanimate - cold, sharp. It hurt his eyes.
There was no tree, no bush, no flower to be seen around. There was a big house on the stone platform, an ordinary house - no worse and no better than those in which the rich Black Forest raftmen live, only bigger, but otherwise - nothing special.
Mikhel, without saying a word, opened the door, and they entered the room. And here everything was like everyone else: a wooden wall clock - the work of Black Forest watchmakers - a painted tiled stove, wide benches, all kinds of household utensils on shelves along the walls.
Only for some reason it seemed that no one lives here - it blew cold from the stove, the clock was silent.
- Well, sit down, buddy, - said Michel. - Let's have a glass of wine.
He went into another room and soon returned with a large jug and two pot-bellied glass glasses - exactly the same as those made at Peter's factory.
Having poured wine for himself and his guest, he started talking about all sorts of things, about foreign lands where he had happened to visit more than once, about beautiful cities and rivers, about large ships crossing the seas, and finally provoked Peter so much that he wanted to die to travel around white light and look at all its curiosities.
- Yes, this is life! .. - he said. - And then we, fools, sit all century in one place and see nothing but fir-trees and pines.
“Well,” said Michel the Giant, slyly narrowing his eyes. - And you are not booked. You can travel and do business. Everything is possible - if only you have enough courage, firmness, common sense ... If only a stupid heart does not interfere! .. And how it interferes, damn it! .. suddenly tremble, pound, and you are afraid for no reason at all. And if someone offends you, and even for no reason at all? It seems that there is nothing to think about, but your heart aches, it aches ... Well, tell me yourself: when they called you a deceiver last night and pushed you out of the tavern, did your head hurt, or what? And when the judges described your factory and house, did your stomach hurt? Well, tell me straight, what's wrong with you?
"Heart," said Peter.
And, as if confirming his words, his heart clenched anxiously in his chest and beat fast and fast.
"Yes," said Michel the Giant, and shook his head. “Someone told me that, as long as you had money, you did not spare it to all sorts of beggars and beggars. Is this true?
"True," said Peter in a whisper. Michel nodded his head.
“Yes,” he repeated again. - Tell me, why did you do it? What good is this to you? What did you get for your money? Wishing you all the best and good health! So what, did you become healthier from this? Yes, half of this money thrown away would be enough to keep a good doctor with you. And this would be much more beneficial for your health than all the wishes put together. Did you know it? Knew. What made you put your hand in your pocket every time some dirty beggar offered you his crumpled hat? The heart, again the heart, not the eyes, not the tongue, not the arms and not the legs. You, as they say, took everything too close to your heart.
But how can you make sure that doesn't happen? Peter asked. - You can’t order your heart! .. And now - I would so like it to stop trembling and hurting. And it trembles and hurts.
Michel laughed.
- Of course! - he said. - Where can you deal with him! Stronger people and those can not cope with all his whims and quirks. You know what, brother, give it to me better. See how I handle it.
- What? Peter screamed in horror. - Give you a heart? .. But I'll die on the spot. No, no, no way!
- Empty! Michel said. “That is, if one of your gentlemen surgeons took it into his head to take out your heart, then, of course, you would not have lived even a minute. Well, I'm different. And you will be alive and healthy as never before. Yes, come here, look with your own eyes ... You will see for yourself that there is nothing to be afraid of.
He got up, opened the door to the next room, and beckoned to Peter with his hand:
- Come in here, buddy, don't be afraid! There is something to see here.
Peter crossed the threshold and involuntarily stopped, not daring to believe his eyes.
His heart clenched so hard in his chest that he could barely catch his breath.
Along the walls, rows of glass jars stood on long wooden shelves, filled to the very brim with some kind of transparent liquid.
And in each jar was a human heart. On top of the label, glued to the glass, was written the name and nickname of the one in whose chest it used to beat.
Peter walked slowly along the shelves, reading label after label. On one was written: “the heart of the head of the district”, on the other - “the heart of the chief forester”. On the third, simply - “Ezekiel the Fat”, on the fifth - “king of dances”.
Further in a row stood six hearts of grain buyers, three hearts of rich usurers, two customs hearts, four judges ...
In a word, there are many hearts and many respectable names known throughout the region.
“You see,” said Michel the Giant, “not one of these hearts shrinks anymore either from fear or from grief. Their former owners got rid once and for all of all worries, anxieties, heart defects and feel great since they evicted the restless tenant from their chest.
- Yes, but what do they have in their chest instead of a heart now? stammered Peter, whose head was spinning from everything he had seen and heard.
- And here's what, - calmly replied Michel. He pulled out a drawer and pulled out a stone heart.
- This is? Peter asked, gasping for breath, and a cold shiver ran down his back. - Marble heart? .. But it must be very cold in the chest from it?
- Of course, it is a little cold, - said Mikhel, - but it is a very pleasant coolness. And why, in fact, the heart must certainly be hot? In winter, when it's cold, cherry liqueur warms much better than the warmest heart. And in the summer, when it’s already stuffy and hot, you won’t believe how nicely such a marble heart refreshes. And the main thing is that it won’t beat up in you either from fear, or from anxiety, or from stupid pity. Very comfortably!
Peter shrugged.
- And that's all, why did you call me? he asked the giant. To be honest, I didn't expect that from you. I need money, and you offer me a stone.
“Well, I think a hundred thousand guilders will be enough for you for the first time,” said Michel. - If you manage to profitably put them into circulation, you can become a real rich man.
“One hundred thousand!” shouted the poor collier in disbelief, and his heart began to beat so violently that he involuntarily held it with his hand. - Do not prick you, restless! Soon I'll be done with you forever... Mr. Michel, I agree to everything! Give me the money and your stone, and you can keep this stupid drummer.
- I knew that you were a guy with a head, - Michel said with a friendly smile. - On this occasion, you should drink. And then we'll get down to business.
They sat down at the table and drank a glass of strong, thick, like blood, wine, then another glass, another glass, and so on until the large jug was completely empty.
There was a roaring in Peter's ears and, dropping his head into his hands, he fell into a dead sleep.
Peter was awakened by the cheerful sounds of a mail horn. He sat in a beautiful carriage. The horses thumped their hooves, and the carriage rolled quickly. Looking out of the window, he saw far behind the mountains of the Black Forest in a haze of blue fog.
At first he could not believe that it was himself, coal miner Peter Munch, sitting on soft cushions in a rich lordly carriage. Yes, and the dress he was wearing was such as he had never dreamed of ... But all the same, it was him, the coal miner Peter Munch! ..
Peter thought for a moment. Here he is, for the first time in his life, leaving these mountains and valleys, overgrown with spruce forests. But for some reason he is not at all sorry to leave his native places. And the thought that he had left his old mother alone, in need and anxiety, without saying a single word of farewell to her, also did not sadden him at all.
“Oh yes,” he suddenly remembered, “because now I have a heart of stone! .. Thanks to Michel the Dutchman - he saved me from all these tears, sighs, regrets ...”
He put his hand to his chest and felt only a slight chill. The stone heart did not beat.
“Well, he kept his word about the heart,” thought Peter. “But what about money?”
He began to inspect the carriage, and among the heap of all sorts of traveling things he found a large leather bag, tightly stuffed with gold and checks for trading houses in all large cities.
“Well, now everything is in order,” thought Peter and sat comfortably among the soft leather pillows.
Thus began the new life of Mr. Peter Munch.
For two years he traveled around the wide world, saw a lot, but did not notice anything, except for postal stations, signs on houses and hotels in which he stayed.
However, Peter always hired a person who showed him the sights of each city.
His eyes looked at beautiful buildings, pictures and gardens, his ears listened to music, merry laughter, intelligent conversations, but nothing interested or pleased him, because his heart always remained cold.
His only pleasure was that he could eat well and sleep sweetly.
However, for some reason, all the dishes soon became boring to him, and sleep began to flee from him. And at night, tossing and turning from side to side, he often recalled how well he slept in the forest near the coal pit and how delicious the miserable dinner his mother brought from home was.
He was never sad now, but he was never happy either.
If others laughed in front of him, he only stretched his lips out of politeness.
It even seemed to him sometimes that he had simply forgotten how to laugh, and after all, before, it used to be that any trifle could make him laugh.
In the end, he became so bored that he decided to return home. Does it matter where you get bored?
When he again saw the dark forests of the Black Forest and the good-natured faces of his countrymen, the blood rushed to his heart for a moment, and it even seemed to him that he would now be delighted. Not! The stone heart remained as cold as it was. A stone is a stone.
Returning to his native places, Peter first of all went to see Michel the Dutchman. He received him in a friendly manner.
- Hello, buddy! - he said. - Well, did you have a good trip? Did you see the white light?
- Yes, how can I tell you ... - Peter answered. - Of course, I saw a lot, but all this is nonsense, one boredom ... In general, I must tell you, Mikhel, that this pebble that you awarded me is not such a find. Of course, it saves me a lot of trouble. I'm never angry, I'm not sad, but I'm never happy either. It's like I'm half-living... Can't you make him a little more alive? Better yet, give me back my old heart. In twenty-five years I had become rather accustomed to it, and although it sometimes played pranks, it still had a cheerful, glorious heart.
Michel the Giant laughed.
- Well, you are a fool, Peter Munch, as I see it, - he said. - I traveled, but I didn’t gain my mind. Do you know why you're bored? From idleness. And you bring down everything on the heart. The heart has absolutely nothing to do with it. You better listen to me: build yourself a house, get married, put money into circulation. When every guilder turns into ten, you will have as much fun as ever. Even a stone will be happy with money.
Peter agreed with him without much argument. Michel the Dutchman promptly gave him another hundred thousand guilders, and they parted on friendly terms.
Soon a rumor spread throughout the Black Forest that the coal miner Peter Munch had returned home even richer than he had been before his departure.
And then something happened that usually happens in such cases. He again became a welcome guest in the tavern, everyone bowed to him, hurried to shake hands, everyone was glad to call him their friend.
He left the glass business and began to trade in timber. But that was just for show.
In fact, he traded not in timber, but in money: he lent them and received them back with interest.
Little by little, half of the Black Forest was in his debt.
With the head of the district, he was now familiar. And as soon as Peter hinted that someone did not pay him the money on time, the judges instantly flew into the house of the unfortunate debtor, described everything, evaluated and sold it under the hammer. In this way, every gulden that Peter received from Michel the Dutchman very soon turned into ten.
True, at first, Mr. Peter Munch was a little bothered by pleas, tears and reproaches. Entire crowds of debtors day and night besieged its doors. The men begged for a delay, the women tried to soften his stony heart with tears, the children asked for bread...
However, all this was settled as well as possible when Peter acquired two huge shepherd dogs. As soon as they were released from the chain, all this, in Peter's words, "cat music" stopped in an instant.
But what annoyed him most of all was the “old woman” (as he called his mother, Mrs. Munch).
When Peter returned from his wanderings, rich again and respected by everyone, he did not even go into her poor hut.
Old, half-starved, sick, she came to his yard, leaning on a stick, and timidly stopped at the threshold.
She did not dare to ask strangers, so as not to disgrace her rich son, and every Saturday she came to his door, waiting for alms and not daring to enter the house, from where she had already been kicked out once.
Seeing the old woman from the window, Peter, frowning angrily, took out several copper coins from his pocket, wrapped them in a piece of paper and, calling the servant, sent them to his mother. He heard how she thanked him in a trembling voice and wished him every well-being, he heard how, coughing and tapping with a stick, she made her way past his windows, but he only thought that he had again wasted a few pennies.
Needless to say, now it was no longer the same Peter Munch, a reckless merry fellow who threw money to wandering musicians without counting and was always ready to help the first poor person he met. The current Peter Munch knew the value of money well and did not want to know anything else.
Every day he became richer and richer, but he did not become more cheerful.
And so, remembering the advice of Michel the Giant, he decided to marry.
Peter knew that any respectable person in the Black Forest would gladly give his daughter for him, but he was picky. He wanted everyone to praise his choice and envy his happiness. He traveled the whole region, looked into all corners and nooks and crannies, looked at all the brides, but not one of them seemed to him worthy to become the wife of Mr. Munch.
Finally, at a party, he was told that the most beautiful and modest girl in the entire Black Forest was Lisbeth, the daughter of a poor woodcutter. But she never goes to dances, sits at home, sews, runs the house and takes care of her old father. There is no better bride not only in these places, but in the whole world.
Without putting things off, Peter got ready and went to the beauty's father. The poor woodcutter was very surprised to see such an important gentleman. But he was even more surprised when he learned that this important gentleman wanted to woo his daughter.
How was it not to seize such happiness!
The old man decided that his sorrows and worries had come to an end, and, without thinking twice, gave Peter his consent, without even asking the beautiful Lizbeth.
And the beautiful Lisbeth was a submissive daughter. She unquestioningly fulfilled the will of her father and became Mrs. Munch.
But the poor thing had a sad life in the rich house of her husband. All the neighbors considered her an exemplary hostess, and she could not please Mr. Peter in any way.
She had a good heart, and, knowing that the chests in the house were bursting with all sorts of good things, she did not consider it a sin to feed some poor old woman, to take out a glass of wine to an old man passing by, or to give a few small coins to the neighbor's children for sweets.
But when Peter once found out about this, he turned purple with anger and said:
- How dare you throw my goods right and left? Have you forgotten that you yourself are a beggar?.. See to it that this is the last time, or else ...
And he looked at her so that the heart of poor Lisbeth turned cold in her chest. She wept bitterly and went to her room.
Since then, whenever some poor person passed by their house, Lisbeth closed the window or turned away so as not to see someone else's poverty. But she never dared to disobey her harsh husband.
No one knew how many tears she shed at night, thinking about Peter's cold, pitiless heart, but everyone now knew that Madame Munch would not give a dying man a sip of water and a hungry crust of bread. She was known as the meanest housewife in the Black Forest.
One day Lisbeth was sitting in front of the house, spinning yarn and humming a song. Her heart was light and cheerful that day, because the weather was excellent, and Mr. Peter was away on business.
And suddenly she saw that some old old man was walking along the road. Bent over in three deaths, he dragged a large, tightly stuffed bag on his back.
The old man kept stopping to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from his forehead.
“Poor man,” thought Lisbeth, “how hard it is for him to bear such an unbearable burden!”
And the old man, going up to her, dropped his huge bag on the ground, sank heavily on it and said in a barely audible voice:
- Be merciful, hostess! Give me a sip of water. I was so exhausted that I just fell off my feet.
- How can you carry such weights at your age! Lisbeth said.
- What can you do! Poverty! .. - answered the old man. - You have to live with something. Of course, for such a rich woman as you, this is difficult to understand. Here you, probably, except cream, and do not drink anything, and I will say thank you for a sip of water.
Without answering, Lisbeth ran into the house and poured a ladle full of water. She was about to take it to a passerby, but suddenly, before reaching the threshold, she stopped and returned to the room again. Opening the cupboard, she took out a large patterned mug, filled it to the brim with wine, and, covering the top with fresh, freshly baked bread, brought the old man out.
“Here,” she said, “refresh yourself for the journey.” The old man looked at Lisbeth with surprise with his faded, glassy eyes. He drank the wine slowly, broke off a piece of bread, and said in a trembling voice:
“I am an old man, but in my lifetime I have seen few people with such a kind heart as yours. And kindness never goes unrewarded...
And she will receive her reward now! a terrible voice boomed behind them.
They turned around and saw Mr. Peter.
- So that's how you are! .. - he said through his teeth, clutching the whip in his hands and approaching Lizbeth. - You pour the best wine from my cellar into my favorite mug and treat some dirty tramps ... Here you go! Get your reward!..
He swung and with all his strength hit his wife on the head with a heavy ebony whip.
Before she could even scream, Lisbeth fell into the old man's arms.
A stone heart knows neither regret nor repentance. But then even Peter felt uneasy, and he rushed to Lisbeth to lift her up.
- Do not work, collier Munch! the old man suddenly said in a voice well known to Peter. - You broke the most beautiful flower in the Black Forest, and it will never bloom again.
Peter involuntarily recoiled.
- So it's you, Mr. Glass Man! he whispered in horror. - Well, what's done, you can't turn it back. But I hope at least you don't denounce me to court...
- To court? The Glass Man smiled bitterly. - No, I know your judge friends too well... Whoever could sell his heart will sell his conscience without hesitation. I will judge you myself!
Peter's eyes darkened at those words.
"Don't judge me, you old curmudgeon!" he shouted, shaking his fists. - You killed me! Yes, yes, you, and no one else! By your grace, I went to bow to Michel the Dutchman. And now you yourself must answer to me, and not I to you! ..
And he swung his whip beside himself. But his hand remained frozen in the air.
Before his eyes, the Glass Man suddenly began to grow. He grew more and more, until he blocked the house, the trees, even the sun ... His eyes threw sparks and were brighter than the brightest flame. He breathed - and the scorching heat penetrated Peter through, so that even his stony heart warmed and trembled, as if beating again. No, even Michel the Giant had never seemed so scary to him!
Peter fell to the ground and covered his head with his hands to protect himself from the revenge of the angry Glass Man, but suddenly he felt that a huge hand, tenacious like the claws of a kite, grabbed him, lifted him high into the air and, whirling like the wind twists a dry blade of grass, threw him to the ground .
- Pitiful worm! .. - a thunderous voice thundered over him. - I could incinerate you on the spot! But, so be it, for the sake of this poor, meek woman, I give you seven more days of life. If during these days you do not repent - beware! ..
It was as if a fiery whirlwind rushed over Peter - and everything was quiet.
In the evening, people passing by saw Peter lying on the ground at the threshold of his house.
He was pale as a dead man, his heart was not beating, and the neighbors had already decided that he was dead (after all, they did not know that his heart was not beating, because it was made of stone). But then someone noticed that Peter was still breathing. They brought water, moistened his forehead, and he woke up...
- Lizbeth! .. Where is Lizbeth? he asked in a hoarse whisper.
But no one knew where she was.
He thanked the people for their help and entered the house. Lisbeth was not there either.
Peter was completely taken aback. What does this mean? Where did she disappear to? Dead or alive, she must be here.
So several days passed. From morning to night he wandered around the house, not knowing what to do. And at night, as soon as he closed his eyes, he was awakened by a quiet voice:
- Peter, get yourself a warm heart! Get yourself a warm heart, Peter!
It was Lizbeth's voice. Peter jumped up, looked around, but she was nowhere to be found.
He told his neighbors that his wife had gone to visit her father for a few days. Of course they believed him. But sooner or later they will find out that this is not true. What to say then? And the days allotted to him, so that he would repent, went on and on, and the hour of reckoning was approaching. But how could he repent when his stony heart knew no remorse? Oh, if only he could win a hotter heart!
And so, when the seventh day was already running out, Peter made up his mind. He put on a festive camisole, a hat, jumped on a horse and galloped to Spruce Mountain.
Where the frequent spruce forest began, he dismounted, tied his horse to a tree, and himself, clinging to thorny branches, climbed up.
He stopped near a large spruce, took off his hat, and, with difficulty remembering the words, said slowly:

Under a shaggy spruce
In a dark dungeon
Where the spring is born
An old man lives between the roots.

He's incredibly rich
He keeps the cherished treasure.
Who was born on Sunday
Receives a wonderful treasure.

And the Glass Man appeared. But now he was all in black: a coat of black frosted glass, black trousers, black stockings... A black crystal ribbon wrapped around his hat.
He barely glanced at Peter and asked in an indifferent voice:
- What do you want from me, Peter Munch?
“I have one more wish left, Mr. Glass Man,” said Peter, not daring to raise his eyes. - I would like you to do it.
- Can a stone heart have desires! replied the Glass Man. You already have everything that people like you need. And if you still lack something, ask your friend Michel. I can hardly help you.
- But you yourself promised me to fulfill three wishes. One more thing is left for me!
- I promised to fulfill your third wish, only if it is not reckless. Well, tell me, what else did you come up with?
"I would like to... I would like to..." Peter began in a broken voice. - Mister Glass Man! Take this dead stone out of my chest and give me my living heart.
- Did you make this deal with me? said the Glass Man. - Am I Michel Dutch? who distributes gold coins and stone hearts? Go to him, ask him for your heart!
Peter shook his head sadly.
“Oh, he won’t give it to me for anything. The Glass Man was silent for a minute, then he took his glass pipe out of his pocket and lit it.
“Yes,” he said, blowing smoke rings, “of course, he will not want to give you your heart ... And although you are very guilty before people, before me and before yourself, your desire is not so stupid. I will help you. Listen: you won't get anything from Mikhel by force. But it is not so difficult to outwit him, even though he considers himself smarter than everyone in the world. Bend over to me, I'll tell you how to lure your heart out of him.
And the Glass Man said in Peter's ear everything that had to be done.
“Remember,” he added in parting, “if you again have a living, warm heart in your chest, and if in the face of danger it does not falter and is harder than stone, no one will overcome you, not even Michel the Giant himself. And now go and come back to me with a living, beating heart, like all people. Or don't come back at all.
So said the Glass Man and hid under the roots of the spruce, and Peter with quick steps went to the gorge where Michel the Giant lived.
He called his name three times, and the giant appeared.
- What, killed his wife? he said, laughing. - Well, okay, serve her right! Why didn’t you take care of your husband’s good! Only, perhaps, friend, you will have to leave our lands for a while, otherwise the good neighbors will notice that she is gone, raise a fuss, start all sorts of talk ... You will not be without trouble. Do you really need money?
- Yes, - said Peter, - and this time more. After all, America is far away.
“Well, it won’t be about money,” said Mikhel and led Peter to his house.
He opened a chest in the corner, pulled out several large bundles of gold coins, and spreading them out on the table, began to count.
Peter stood nearby and poured the counted coins into a bag.
- And what a clever deceiver you are, Michel! he said, looking slyly at the giant. - After all, I completely believed that you took out my heart and put a stone in its place.
- That is, how is it? - said Mikhel and even opened his mouth in surprise. Do you doubt that you have a heart of stone? What, it beats with you, freezes? Or maybe you feel fear, grief, remorse?
“Yes, a little,” said Peter. - I understand perfectly well, buddy, that you simply froze it, and now it is gradually thawing ... And how could you, without causing me the slightest harm, take out my heart and replace it with a stone one? To do this, you need to be a real magician! ..
“But I assure you,” shouted Mikhel, “that I did it!” Instead of a heart, you have a real stone, and your real heart lies in a glass jar, next to the heart of Ezekiel Tolstoy. You can see for yourself if you want.
Peter laughed.
- There is something to see! he said casually. - When I traveled in foreign countries, I saw many curiosities and cleaner than yours. The hearts you have in glass jars are made of wax. I have even seen wax people, let alone hearts! No, whatever you say, you don’t know how to conjure! ..
Mikhel stood up and threw back his chair with a crash.
- Go here! he called, opening the door to the next room. - Look what's written here! Right here - on this bank! "Heart of Peter Munch"! Put your ear to the glass - listen to how it beats. Can wax beat and tremble like that?
- Of course it can. Wax people walk and talk at fairs. They have a spring inside...
- Spring? And now you will find out from me what kind of spring it is! Fool! Can't tell a wax heart from his own!
Mikhel tore off Peter's camisole, pulled a stone out of his chest and, without saying a word, showed it to Peter. Then he took the heart out of the jar, breathed on it, and carefully placed it where it should have been.
Peter's chest felt hot and cheerful, and the blood ran faster through his veins.
He involuntarily put his hand to his heart, listening to its joyful knock.
Michel looked at him triumphantly.
- Well, who was right? - he asked.
"You," said Peter. - I didn't think to admit that you are such a sorcerer.
- That's the same! .. - answered Mikhel, grinning smugly. - Well, now come on - I'll put it in its place.
- It's right there! Peter said calmly. - This time you were fooled, Mr. Michel, even though you are a great sorcerer. I won't give you my heart anymore.
- It's not yours! Michel screamed. - I bought it. Give me back my heart now, you pathetic thief, or I'll crush you on the spot!
And, clenching his huge fist, he raised it over Peter. But Peter didn't even bow his head. He looked Mikhel straight in the eyes and said firmly:
- Will not give it back!
Mikhel must not have expected such an answer. He staggered away from Peter as if he had stumbled while running. And the hearts in the jars thumped as loudly as a watch in a workshop knocks out of its frames and cases.
Mikhel looked around them with his cold, deadening gaze - and they immediately fell silent.
Then he looked at Peter and said softly:
- Here you are! Well, full, full, there is nothing to pose as a brave man. Someone who, but I know your heart, was holding it in my hands ... A pitiful heart - soft, weak ... I suppose it trembles with fear ... Let him come here, he will be calmer in the bank.
- I'm not giving it! Peter said even louder.
- We will see!
And suddenly, in the place where Mikhel had just stood, a huge slippery greenish-brown snake appeared. In an instant, she wrapped herself in rings around Peter and, squeezing his chest, as if with an iron hoop, looked into his eyes with the cold eyes of Michel.
- Will you give it back? the snake hissed.
- Will not give it back! Peter said.
At that very moment, the rings that were squeezing him disintegrated, the snake disappeared, and flames burst out from under the snake with smoky tongues and surrounded Peter from all sides.
Fiery tongues licked his clothes, hands, face...
- Will you give it back, will you give it back? .. - the flame rustled.
- Not! Peter said.
He almost suffocated from the unbearable heat and sulfuric smoke, but his heart was firm.
The flame subsided, and streams of water, seething and raging, fell on Peter from all sides.
In the noise of the water, the same words were heard as in the hiss of the snake, and in the whistle of the flame: “Will you give it back? Will you give it back?"
Every minute the water rose higher and higher. Now she has come up to the very throat of Peter ...
- Will you give it up?
- Will not give it back! Peter said.
His heart was harder than stone.
The water rose like a frothy crest before his eyes, and he almost choked.
But then some invisible force picked up Peter, lifted him above the water and carried him out of the gorge.
He did not even have time to wake up, as he was already standing on the other side of the ditch, which separated the possessions of Michel the Giant and the Glass Man.
But Michel the Giant has not yet given up. In pursuit of Peter, he sent a storm.
Like cut grass, century-old pines fell and ate. Lightning split the sky and fell to the ground like fiery arrows. One fell to the right of Peter, two steps away from him, the other - to the left, even closer.
Peter involuntarily closed his eyes and grabbed the trunk of a tree.
- Thunder, thunder! he shouted, panting for breath. - My heart is mine, and I won't give it to you!
And suddenly everything went silent. Peter lifted his head and opened his eyes.
Mikhel stood motionless at the border of his possessions. His arms dropped, his feet seemed to be rooted to the ground. It was evident that the magical power had left him. It was no longer the former giant, commanding the earth, water, fire and air, but a decrepit, hunched over, eaten by years old man in the tattered clothes of a raft-driver. He leaned on his hook as if on a crutch, buried his head in his shoulders, shrunk...
With every minute in front of Peter Michel became smaller and smaller. Here he became quieter than water, lower than grass, and finally pressed himself completely to the ground. Only by the rustle and vibration of the stems could one see how he crawled away like a worm into his lair.
...Peter looked after him for a long time, and then slowly walked to the top of the mountain to the old spruce.
His heart beat in his chest, glad that it could beat again.
But the further he went, the sadder he became in his soul. He remembered everything that had happened to him over the years - he remembered his old mother, who came to him for miserable alms, he remembered the poor people whom he poisoned with dogs, he remembered Lisbeth ... And bitter tears rolled down from his eyes.
When he came to the old spruce, the Glass Man was sitting on a mossy tussock under the branches, smoking his pipe.
He looked at Peter with clear, glassy eyes and said:
- What are you crying about, collier Munch? Aren't you happy to have a living heart beating in your chest again?
"Ah, it doesn't beat, it breaks into pieces," said Peter. - It would be better for me not to live in the world than to remember how I lived until now. Mother will never forgive me, and I can't even ask poor Lisbeth for forgiveness. Better kill me, Mr. Glass Man - at least this shameful life will come to an end. Here it is, my last wish!
"Very well," said the Glass Man. - If you want it, let it be your way. Now I'll bring the axe.
He slowly knocked out the pipe and slipped it into his pocket. Then he got up and, lifting the shaggy prickly branches, disappeared somewhere behind a spruce.
And Peter, crying, sank down on the grass. He did not regret life at all and patiently waited for his last minute.
And then there was a slight rustle behind him.
“Coming! thought Peter. “Now it’s all over!” And, covering his face with his hands, he bowed his head even lower.
- Peter Munk! - he heard the voice of the Glass Man, thin and sonorous, like crystal. - Peter Munk! Take one last look around.
Peter raised his head and involuntarily cried out. Before him stood his mother and wife.
- Lizbeth, you're alive! cried Peter, breathless with joy. - Mother! And you are here! .. How can I beg your forgiveness?!
“They have already forgiven you, Peter,” said the Glass Man. - Yes, they did, because you repented from the bottom of your heart. But it's not stone now. Come back home and be still a coal miner. If you begin to respect your craft, then people will respect you, and everyone will gladly shake your blackened from coal, but clean hand, even if you do not have barrels of gold.
With these words, the Glass Man disappeared. And Peter with his wife and mother went home.
There is no trace left of Mr. Peter Munch's rich estate. During the last storm, lightning struck directly into the house and burned it to the ground. But Peter did not at all regret his lost wealth.
It was not far from his father's old hut, and he merrily walked there, remembering that glorious time when he was a carefree and cheerful coal miner...
How surprised he was when he saw a beautiful new house instead of a poor, crooked hut. Flowers were blooming in the front garden, starched curtains were white on the windows, and inside everything was so tidied up, as if someone was waiting for the owners. The fire crackled merrily in the stove, the table was set, and on the shelves along the walls multi-colored glassware shimmered with all the colors of the rainbow.
- All this was given to us by the Glass Man! exclaimed Peter.
And a new life began in a new house. From morning to evening, Peter worked at his coal pits and returned home tired, but cheerful - he knew that at home they were waiting for him with joy and impatience.
At the card table and in front of the tavern counter, he was never seen again. But he spent his Sunday evenings now more cheerfully than before. The doors of his house were wide open for guests, and the neighbors willingly entered the house of the collier Munch, because they were met by the hostesses, hospitable and friendly, and the owner, good-natured, always ready to rejoice with a friend of his joy or help him in trouble.
A year later, a big event took place in the new house: Peter and Lizbeth had a son, little Peter Munk.
- Who do you want to call godfathers? the old woman asked Peter.
Peter didn't answer. He washed the coal dust from his face and hands, put on a festive caftan, took a festive hat and went to Spruce Mountain.
Near the familiar old spruce, he stopped and, bowing low, uttered the cherished words:

Under a shaggy spruce.
In a dark dungeon...

He never lost his way, did not forget anything, and said all the words, as they should, in order, from the first to the last. But the Glass Man did not show up.
- Mister Glass Man! cried Peter. “I don’t need anything from you, I don’t ask for anything and I came here only to call you as godfathers to my newborn son! .. You hear me. Mister Glass Man?
But all around was quiet. The Glass Man did not respond even here.
Only a light wind ran over the tops of the fir trees and dropped a few cones at Peter's feet.
- Well. I’ll take these fir cones as a souvenir, if the owner of Spruce Mountain doesn’t want to show himself anymore, ”Peter said to himself and, bowing goodbye to the big spruce, he went home.
In the evening, old mother Munch, putting away her son's festive caftan in the closet, noticed that his pockets were stuffed with something. She turned them inside out and several large spruce cones fell out.
Having hit the floor, the bumps scattered, and all their scales turned into brand new shiny thalers, among which there was not a single fake one.
It was a gift from the Glass Man to little Peter Munch.
For many more years, the family of the coal miner Munch lived in peace and harmony in the world. Little Peter has grown up, big Peter has grown old.
And when the youth surrounded the old man and asked him to tell something about the past days, he told them this story and always ended it like this:
- I knew in my lifetime both wealth and poverty. I was poor when I was rich, rich when I was poor. I used to have stone chambers, but then my heart was stone in my chest. And now I have only a house with a stove - but a human heart.

Once upon a time there was a gardener in the world, and he had an only daughter, whose name was Elsa. All his life the gardener took care of the royal garden, and Elsa helped him. It can be said that she grew up among flowers, and such beautiful flowers as in that garden were not in the whole kingdom. And no one knew how to handle them better than Elsa - as soon as she went out into the garden, all the flowers bloomed, rejoicing at her appearance.

The only pity is that the king rarely visited these possessions, and the old castle with a wonderful garden was empty most of the time. Only once Elsa and her father were lucky enough to see the king. A few years ago, he came to hunt in the local forests and lived in the castle for a whole week. This fun time was remembered for a long time by all the inhabitants of the castle and its environs, and especially by little Elsa, with whom one amazing event happened in those days that influenced her whole future life.

The fact is that the king took his son, the prince, with him to hunt. Of course, Elsa really wanted to look at the real prince at least out of the corner of her eye, but he spent almost all his time hunting with his father.

And then one day, when Elsa was walking in the garden, she accidentally ran into the prince on one of the paths. She did not immediately notice him - a huge rose bush prevented her. And by the time I noticed it, it was already too late. Elsa froze in her tracks, not daring to even ask for forgiveness for her awkwardness. She was so embarrassed! In addition, she was suddenly afraid that the prince would complain about her to the king, and then her poor father might lose his job. From this terrible thought, tears involuntarily came to Elsa's eyes.

But, to her surprise, the prince did not even think to be angry. On the contrary, he himself hurried to apologize to her, and, noticing that the girl was almost crying, he plucked the largest and most beautiful rose from the bush and gave it to her.

Elsa's tears immediately dried up. She looked at the prince in amazement. The first thing that caught her eye was that the prince was very similar to his father, the king. And not only outwardly: it was immediately clear that he was as kind, brave and noble as his father. But most of all, Elsa was struck by something else - his bright look, turned to her. Yes, yes, the prince looked at her and smiled. He smiled at her, Elsa, the gardener's daughter, and was in no hurry to part with her. It seemed that this unexpected meeting gives him the same joy as she herself.

Seeing that the girl was no longer crying, the prince asked her what her name was and how she ended up in the royal garden. Elsa answered, and soon they were talking peacefully, as if they had known each other for a hundred years. Elsa was no longer afraid of him. It seemed to her that the prince was an extraordinary person and that she had never met people like him before. Therefore, when the prince came from the castle, Elsa was even upset. But nothing can be done - something happened and the king urgently wanted to see his son. The prince, no matter how alarmed he was, said goodbye to Elsa in a friendly way and said that he was very pleased to meet and that he hoped that this would not be their last meeting. Elsa also hoped so - the prince managed to become her friend. But, alas, the next day, early in the morning, the king and the prince hurriedly left the castle - the news came that the queen was seriously ill. Elsa never saw the prince again.

As time went. Elsa still helped her father look after the royal garden and deep down she always hoped that one day she would meet her prince there again. She kept the rose he gave her as a memento of meeting him. And her heart itself preserved for her the image of a prince, beautiful and kind. In all these years, she has never been able to forget him.

And then one day a rumor swept through the district that the prince was going to visit his possessions again. Everyone in the castle immediately began to prepare for his arrival. Needless to say, what impression did this news make on Elsa? She was not herself.

I must say that by that time her father had already died, and now Elsa alone looked after the entire huge garden. Upon learning of the arrival of the prince, Elsa first of all began to put the garden in order, although it was already in order. But she could not sit idle, because then a variety of unnecessary thoughts began to crawl into her head. And with the heart, too, something inexplicable was happening ...

Be that as it may, Elsa wisely decided that it was best for her not to see the prince at all - for her own good. Therefore, on the day of arrival, she did not even run to meet him with everyone, although she really wanted to. Her soul longed for him, but instead she went to the garden to have time to water the roses before the prince arrived. But finding herself in the garden, among the flowers, Elsa forgot about everything. First, she watered her favorite rose bush, the same one next to which she once met the prince, then she looked into the greenhouse, then weeded out a few weeds in the flower bed ... There is always work in the garden! And only after finishing these urgent matters, Elsa hurried home, still hoping to go unnoticed.

However, it happened that just at that time the prince also went out into the garden and was now walking along the same path straight towards Elsa. It was too late to run - the prince saw her. Elsa's heart began to beat strangely, and there was a mist before her eyes. And yet Elsa managed to notice that the prince had not changed much since their last meeting and that he was still young and beautiful. But she grew up, matured.

Will he recognize me? Not likely, she thought. Meanwhile, the prince came quite close and, nodding at Elsa's respectful greeting, asked her if she knew where he could find the local gardener.

I am the gardener of this garden, your highness, - Elsa answered with all possible calmness.

Of course, the prince did not recognize her. But is it any wonder, because he saw her only once in his life, and even then, when she was a little girl ... Several years have passed since then, of course, he forgot her. What's strange here?

What do you want, your highness? Elsa asked. She decided not to remind the prince of their casual acquaintance. What for?

I need a bouquet, - said the prince, - of the largest and most beautiful roses that grow in this garden. This bouquet should be ready tomorrow morning.

Elsa's heart sank with a heavy foreboding.

May I know who the flowers are for, your highness, - Elsa asked quietly, - Forgive me for my impudence, but this is necessary in order to arrange the bouquet correctly.

Yes, of course, - the prince answered, - this is a bouquet for my bride, the princess. She will come here tomorrow. The princess loves flowers very much, and I would like her to like the bouquet. Of course, the decoration should be wedding and appropriate to her high dignity. Do you understand me?

Yes, your highness, - said Elsa, - do not worry, tomorrow morning the bouquet for the princess will be ready.

The Prince reservedly thanked Elsa and returned to the castle.

“He didn’t recognize me,” Elsa thought for some reason, “However, it doesn’t matter anymore.”
And she went to choose the best roses in the garden for the prince's bride.

Elsa couldn't sleep that night. Early in the morning she collected a beautiful bouquet of the most delicate, delightful roses with drops of dew and took it to the castle, where the prince was already waiting for her. He must have been up all night too.

Everything was ready for the arrival of the princess. Elsa could not resist and also went to the square to look at the prince's bride.

The princess was beautiful and, immediately evident, kind. The prince presented her with a bouquet, the same one that Elsa had composed. The princess, looking at the flowers, could not resist and exclaimed:

How lovely!

Oddly enough, Elsa even liked the princess.

“They suit each other,” Elsa thought sadly and went home. She already knew that the wedding was scheduled for a month later and that the prince and princess had decided to settle here in the old castle.

The preparations for the wedding were in full swing. For the ceremony, a whole sea of ​​flowers was needed, so Elsa spent most of the day in the garden at work. She didn't have time to think about anything.

And yet, several times, Elsa caught herself thinking: “What if I had been born a princess, and not a gardener? Could the prince then fall in love with me?” These thoughts filled Elsa with such melancholy that even the flowers did not please her. And at the sight of roses, she really wanted to cry.

There were only a few days left before the wedding. Elsa suddenly fell ill. She lay in her house, forgotten by everyone, and her thoughts floated away somewhere far away. She had a chill, then a fever, she was thirsty all the time, but she did not have the strength to pour water. And everyone around was busy preparing for the wedding ...

At night, lying awake, Elsa thought about what happened to her, and tried to understand why she felt so bad and hurt so much that she wanted to die. And she quickly realized this, but it didn’t make it easier for her, rather the opposite. Of course, the whole point was that Elsa loved the prince. She fell in love with him at first sight and without knowing it she loved all these years, and waited and dreamed of meeting him.

And so he returned, but he does not love her, does not remember her and does not even think about her. Very soon he will marry a beautiful princess, and she, Elsa, will forever be left alone with her dried rose and a broken heart. Oh, that tears could help her grief! How much she shed them these days! But, alas, it was all in vain.

“No, I was not born for happiness,” thought Elsa. - This princess was born for happiness, and I ... How can I live now? How to live? Why live?"

And she decided that it would be best if this disease brought her to the grave ... Because it was unbearably painful and hard for her to live, and there was no need. Elsa thought so.

And then came the day of the wedding. Elsa, no matter how sick and weak she was, still found the strength to go to the square and look at the prince for the last time. But she didn't see much - she was in tears.

"But why? Why? she kept thinking, looking at the prince and princess. Why her and not me? Does she love him more than me? No, it's impossible… But he loves her…”

Elsa was in despair. Until the last minute, she hoped that something would happen or that one of them would change their minds, and the wedding would not take place. But everything went as it should. The wedding took place. Happy young people received congratulations, the crowd enthusiastically greeted them, everyone rejoiced and showered the prince and princess with flowers ...

And only Elsa stood motionless and did not take her eyes off the face of the prince. She was afraid that her heart would not withstand this pain and break.

So be it, Elsa thought sadly. She looked at the prince for the last time.

But her heart did not break. Everyone went to the castle, where a magnificent feast was held in honor of the wedding of the prince and princess. And Elsa went home, took the rose there that she had kept all these years, and the last piece of bread. She was shivering, and she threw a warm scarf over her shoulders.

After that, she left her house and her garden forever and went wherever her eyes looked. She didn't care where she went, as long as she was away from this castle and its happy owners.

The tears are gone, but the sadness remains. Elsa walked without looking at the road, and slept where the night overtook her. When her strength ran out, she walked without strength, walked without knowing where, until she finally found herself in a swamp.

The swamp was huge, without end and edge. Walking on it was like going to certain death. But this did not frighten Elsa. She walked forward, as if some unknown force was drawing her there.

And so, when the sun was already setting, Elsa reached the very heart of the impenetrable swamp. She was surrounded only by bogs and stunted trees. There were no animals or birds here, only snakes and frogs.

A dead place, - thought Elsa, - Where should I go now?

Then she realized that she was lost. She looked around - the swamp was equally dull on all sides. And so she suddenly wanted to get out of this gloomy place ...

She rushed forward, stumbling and falling, but getting up again and walking on. In the end, the last forces left her - falling to the ground, she felt that she herself could no longer rise.

"I'm dying," Elsa thought, "Well... Farewell, prince, I wish you happiness... you and your wife..."

Then she closed her eyes and apparently lost consciousness.

Elsa woke up in some dark hut, hung from floor to ceiling with fragrant marsh herbs and roots. A fire was burning in the stove - some kind of potion was being brewed in a cauldron. Elsa also made out in the corner an ominous hunched figure in a black cloak ...

In an instant, Elsa remembered all the terrible stories about the swamp witch that she had heard as a child. This witch has lived in the swamp for three hundred years and has been bringing disease and damage to the entire area. She was so ugly that she never lifted the black veil from her face. Father told Elsa that the swamp witch is so evil that she hates the whole human race.

Elsa went cold with fear. But there could be no doubt - after all, apart from this witch, no one lived in the swamps. “This is definitely a swamp witch,” Elsa thought in dismay, “and she will definitely kill me. Or she will bewitch ... Ah, I don’t care anymore, as long as she doesn’t lift the covers from her terrible face ... Anything, but not this ... "

However, the sorceress (if it really was her) did not seem to intend to harm Elsa in any way. Feeling that Elsa woke up, she turned and handed her a cup of some boiling brew that smelled of swamp mud.

Drink, she said softly. Strange, but in her voice there was nothing feminine, and indeed, human - rather, it resembled the hiss of a poisonous snake.

Elsa drank - she did not dare to refuse. The potion was scalding and bitter.

What will happen to me now? Elsa thought desperately.

However, nothing bad happened to her, surprisingly, did not happen. And even vice versa - the chills passed, and the forces returned.

Who you are? Elsa asked in a barely audible voice. She didn't want the witch to think she recognized her.

But in response, a menacing hiss was heard from under the covers:

If you don't want trouble to happen, never ask me such questions. There are things you shouldn't know.

Elsa was dying of fear - she wanted to run away from here with all her might, but she did not dare. She accidentally glanced at the hand of the sorceress - it was a paw, covered with wool and with claws. Elsa closed her eyes so as not to see her.

Who are you and how did you get here? She heard a terrible voice.

And then, oddly enough, she felt that she could tell her everything. And then she opened her eyes and told the swamp sorceress about everything that had happened to her, hiding nothing.

The sorceress listened attentively to Elsa, and then, after thinking, she said (and this time her sepulchral voice seemed to Elsa a little less terrible):

I need workers for my swamp. If you stay here and work for a whole year, I will give you a bag of gold. If you work for me for three years, I will give you a magic ring. If you work for me for seven years, I will fulfill your every desire.

Any? Elsa asked, feeling her heart skip a beat in her chest.

Anything, - the sorceress confirmed, - whatever you want. But I warn you that my work is hard, black. Rarely does anyone last more than a year. Here, in the swamps, you can go crazy with longing. Seven years is a lot. You are still quite young, you can meet another person and fall in love with him. Think about it.

No, - answered Elsa, - I want to stay here and work with all my might, if you will let me.

Well, stay, - the sorceress shrugged.

So Elsa stayed to live in the swamps. She was a good worker and did everything she was ordered to do: she collected swamp roots and herbs, cleared bogs, caught frogs and snakes, and boiled acrid swamp fog. She cooked, cleaned, washed, cleaned, collected firewood - from early morning until late at night. She slept on a cold earthen floor, ate moldy sedge bread and swamp mud soup, drank nasty swamp water ... But the worst thing was that this work never ended and did not change - Elsa had to do the same thing day after day to see the same thing.

Sometimes it seemed to her that from such work she would soon forget her name and that once before she had been a gardener in the royal garden, and somewhere in the world there lived a prince whom she loved so much. Then she took out her dried rose from the rag and, looking at it, remembered how she met the prince for the first time and how kind he was to her.

Years passed. Elsa is used to swamp life. No work bothered her anymore. The sorceress did not offend her - they hardly saw each other and did not talk, only from time to time fiery letters appeared on the wall, from which Elsa found out what else she needed to do. Elsa spoke so rarely now that she almost forgot the sound of her own voice. As for the monstrous voice of the sorceress, he no longer frightened Elsa, on the contrary, she was so tired of loneliness that she would be glad to talk to any living creature, but this, alas, was denied to her.

The only time she decided to turn to the witch with a request. She wanted to plant a very small rose bush somewhere in the swamps - the monotonous marsh landscape oppressed her so much.

The swamp is not a garden, - she heard in response, - If you want to admire the roses, then come back home.

Elsa had to abandon her idea. The witch was right. After all, she herself, of her own free will, left the garden full of the most beautiful roses and came here to the swamp. There's nothing you can do, you have to be patient.

So time went on. Year after year, imperceptibly passed seven years.

And the long-awaited day has finally arrived. It's time for Elsa to receive her reward. Only instead of joy, for some reason, she felt an inexplicable sadness. It seemed to her that her happiness was impossible and that the sorceress simply could not fulfill her desire.

But there was nothing to do, and Elsa went to the swamp witch.

You've worked hard all these seven years and honestly deserved your reward. Tell me your wish and I will grant it immediately.

But Elsa remained silent. She had been waiting for this for so long, and now she was afraid that everything was in vain and that the sorceress could not do anything for her. And then everything will be over.

What happened to you? Or maybe you don't want to?

Yes, - Elsa sighed, - I have one desire, but I'm afraid that it's ... impossible.

Elsa nodded. Her throat was dry. My head was spinning from the possibility of happiness. Really? But… She quickly came to her senses.

The prince already has a wife, and he… loves her,” Elsa said through her tears. Her heart sank again.

And then she heard the following:

The princess is mortally ill. She only has a few days left to live. She will die and witchcraft has nothing to do with it. Such is fate. Of course, the prince will grieve greatly, but then he will meet you and fall in love, no doubt about it. You will get married and live happily ever after. So feel free to make your wish, Elsa. I am not lying. It is very easy to perform.

Elsa considered. Everything was really easy.

But the princess, she finally asked, will she really die? Can't you save her?

It's impossible, - was her answer, - The princess must die, and it's not your fault.

But he loves her, - whispered Elsa.

Yes, he loves. And then love you. This often happens. This is life, Elsa, and sometimes it is so harsh. You cannot both be happy: at first the princess rejoiced, and you suffered. Now it's your turn. This is simple, though difficult to understand, but true. It is so?

But their children? Elsa asked in a barely audible voice, almost giving up.

You will raise them, won't you?

Elsa nodded. Yes, she could raise them.

So, Elsa, what did you decide? Speak! To fulfill your desire, I need to hear it.

Elsa was silent. For some reason, she thought that in the inhuman voice of the sorceress there is not a drop of compassion - only coldness and cruelty. Of course, she was right, but ... something monstrous, something terrible and irreparable was still in her speeches.

I want, - Elsa suddenly said, - that the princess gets better. This is my only desire.

You're crazy - it's impossible.

Nothing is impossible, - Elsa repeated the words of the sorceress, feeling how incomprehensible joy fills her tormented heart.

And for this you have worked for so many years? Trust me, you won't get another opportunity. Are you sure?

Elsa nodded decisively. It was all over, but she couldn't do otherwise. “Anyway, I could never be happy at such a price, and in general ...” - she thought.

Will the princess get better? Elsa asked.

Already recovered. Everyone rejoices, and the doctors say that a miracle happened.

Elsa couldn't help but smile.

They're happy? she asked quietly.

That's good," said Elsa.

All her hopes collapsed completely, but she did not regret anything. Everything was correct. And the fact that she will never see happiness again ... Well ... She knew this before, and no witchcraft will help her.

I have to go, - she said to the witch, - thank you for everything ...

Then she looked at the sorceress in order to better remember her. Over the years, she had managed to become attached to her, and now she was even sorry to part with her, but she had already lingered here too long.

And then something incredible happened.

The whole room suddenly lit up with some marvelous golden light, so that Elsa involuntarily closed her eyes. What a miracle It seemed to her that she felt the warmth and familiar fragrance of a flowering garden...

Before her stood a stranger - and yet he reminded her of someone. Elsa realized that she had already seen him once before, once a long time ago. But when and where, she couldn't remember.

Where is the witch? Elsa asked in surprise.

The sorceress is long dead, - the stranger answered her.

But I just saw her and talked to her,” Elsa murmured.

No, Elsa, you are mistaken. You have never seen a sorceress and have never spoken to her, - then the stranger smiled.

Elsa didn't understand at all. "What does all of this mean?" she thought in dismay.

Who you are? - Finally, she asked the stranger, - Forgive me, but you look so much like a king ...

This is not surprising, because I am his son, - the stranger answered.

I am his older brother, - he said and added, looking at Elsa's surprised face with a smile, - and I am also a prince. A long time ago, a swamp witch conceived the idea of ​​becoming a queen. While my father was hunting, she poisoned the queen, my mother, with some kind of poisonous potion, so that she could then bewitch my father and become his wife. But I accidentally found out about this and, full of grief and anger, I killed the sorceress, avenging my mother. Just before my death, the sorceress managed to send a terrible curse on me - and I turned into the most disgusting freak in the whole wide world. I had to cover my face with a black veil and hide from people in this witch's hut in the swamp. Here I found her sorcery books and learned how to conjure. I learned that only a miracle can save me. I had to hire workers in the swamp for a certain fee, and if one of them, after working for seven whole years, refuses his reward in order to save his enemy, then the spell will fall from me and I will again become the same as I was before. As you can see, I had almost no hope, and then you appeared, Elsa.

If I knew, - whispered the shocked Elsa.

No, you shouldn't have known anything, - said the prince, - evil spells cannot be removed so easily. For seven years you worked tirelessly, and then, abandoning your happiness, you saved the life of the princess, returned happiness to my brother and removed the terrible spell from me myself. Tell me, how can I thank you, Elsa?

Elsa listened to this amazing story with great attention. She thought about how often people see things that are not what they really are and mistake one for the other... And all this time she tried to remember where she could have seen this person before...

But to the last question of the prince, she simply answered:

You don't have to thank me, your highness, because I thought only of myself when I worked in the swamps. And only conscience did not allow me to buy myself happiness at the cost of someone else's life. In addition, I never considered the princess my enemy, on the contrary, I always liked her ... But I almost killed her and ... you. I'm so ashamed!

The prince smiled and shook his head.

No, Elsa, you couldn't have done otherwise.

Your Highness, - Elsa could not stand it, - tell me, have we seen you before? I mean, even before I came here.

The prince looked into her eyes.

Yes, we saw each other once, - he said and smiled again. “But that was a long time ago. It's strange that you remember me. Not long before so many different troubles befell my family, I came briefly to an old castle to see my father. There, walking in the garden, I accidentally met a girl, the gardener's daughter. Her name was Elsa. I think it was you... I also gave her a rose...

Here it is, this rose, - Elsa cried, taking out a withered flower from a rag and passing it to the prince, - I kept it all these years as a memory of meeting you ... Forgive me, prince ... I wanted to become your brother's wife, because I thought that he is you ... And I was sure that I loved him, but I loved - you ...

Then Elsa covered her face with her hands and burst into tears.

Do not cry, Elsa, - the prince consoled her, - and do not ask for forgiveness! You just made me the happiest person in the world! Because I love you, Elsa. I loved you all these years, although I knew that your heart was given to another - my brother. But now there are no more barriers between us, and I ask you - become my wife!

Then the prince handed her a rose, as he had done so many years ago. That same rose - while they were talking about love, the rose bloomed again and was so fresh, as if it had just been plucked from a bush - even dewdrops glittered on its petals, dew, or maybe tears ...

This tale had a happy ending. The prince returned home with Elsa, and on the same day they got married.

And the rose was planted in the royal garden, and there it still blooms.