E-text prepared by Delphine Lettau
| Note: |
| This work contains three novellas. Links to each novella are provided here: |
| The Old Man of the Mountain The Lovecharm Pietro of Abano |
The name of Herr Balthasar was well known throughout the wholehill-country: not a child but had heard of his vast riches, and hadsome story to tell of him. Everybody too loved and honoured him; forhis bounty was as great as his wealth: but at the same time he wasviewed with fear; for he harast both himself and others by a number ofstrange whims which no one could understand; and his moodiness, hissilent reserve, were especially irksome to those who were nearestabout him. No person had seen him smile for many years; he scarcelyever came out of his large house on the hill above the littlemountain-town, nearly the whole of which belonged to him: itsinhabitants too were almost all his dependents, whom he had drawnthither to work in his manufactories, his mines, and his alum pits.Thus through his means this small spot was very thickly peopled, andenlivened by the greatest activity. Waggons and horses werecontinually moving to and fro; and the clatter of the workingmachinery was mixt up with the roar of waters, and with the variousnoises from the pounding and smelting-houses. The smoke of the coalshowever, the steam from the pits, and the black heaps of dross andslag piled up on high all around, gave the gloomy sequestered valley astill more dismal appearance; so that no one who travelled for thesake of seeking out and enjoying the beauties of nature, would haveany mind to linger there.
Among the multitude of persons who in consequence of his largeundertakings and the variety of his concerns were employed by old HerrBalthasar, none seemed to enjoy his confidence in so high a degree asEdward, the head overseer of his mines and manufactories, and themanager of his accounts. He was about thirty years old, tall and of afine figure, had always something sprightly and good-humoured on hislips, and thus formed a striking contrast to his morose monosyllabicmaster, who had grown old before his time, and whose withered,wrinkled features, with the faint sad look from his hollow eyes, wereno less repulsive to all, than Edward's cheerful frankness wasattractive of confidence and affection.
It was still very early on a summer morning when Edward was lookingthoughtfully down into the smoking valley: the sun lay behind a thickmass of clouds; and the mists that were travelling along the bottom,and mingled with the black vapours from the steaming pits, checkt hisview, and wrapt the landscape in a kind of grey veil. He mused overhis youth, over the plans he had once formed, and then thought how,contrary to them all, he had become fixt in this melancholy solitude,which, as he was already verging on the maturity of manhood, heprobably would never quit again. While he was thus losing himself inhis meditations, young William hurried by him, fully equipt as itseemed for a journey, without even bidding him goo