The King of the Golden River | Page 9

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drinking mug, which an uncle of his had given to little Gluck, and
which he was very fond of and would not have parted with for the
world, though he never drank anything out of it but milk and water.
The mug was a very odd mug to look at. The handle was formed of two
wreaths of flowing golden hair, so finely spun that it looked more like
silk than metal, and these wreaths descended into and mixed with a

beard and whiskers of the same exquisite workmanship, which
surrounded and decorated a very fierce little face, of the reddest gold
imaginable, right in the front of the mug, with a pair of eyes in it which
seemed to command its whole circumference. It was impossible to
drink out of the mug without being subjected to an intense gaze out of
the side of these eyes, and Schwartz positively averred that once, after
emptying it, full of Rhenish, seventeen times, he had seen them wink!
When it came to the mug's turn to be made into spoons, it half broke
poor little Gluck's heart; but the brothers only laughed at him, tossed
the mug into the melting pot, and staggered out to the alehouse, leaving
him, as usual, to pour the gold into bars when it was all ready.
When they were gone, Gluck took a farewell look at his old friend in
the melting pot. The flowing hair was all gone; nothing remained but
the red nose and the sparkling eyes, which looked more malicious than
ever. "And no wonder," thought Gluck, "after being treated in that
way." He sauntered disconsolately to the window and sat himself down
to catch the fresh evening air and escape the hot breath of the furnace.
Now this window commanded a direct view of the range of mountains
which, as I told you before, overhung the Treasure Valley, and more
especially of the peak from which fell the Golden River. It was just at
the close of the day, and when Gluck sat down at the window, he saw
the rocks of the mountain tops, all crimson and purple with the sunset;
and there were bright tongues of fiery cloud burning and quivering
about them; and the river, brighter than all, fell, in a waving column of
pure gold, from precipice to precipice, with the double arch of a broad
purple rainbow stretched across it, flushing and fading alternately in the
wreaths of spray.
"Ah!" said Gluck aloud, after he had looked at it for a little while, "if
that river were really all gold, what a nice thing it would be."
"No, it wouldn't, Gluck," said a clear, metallic voice close at his ear.
"Bless me, what's that?" exclaimed Gluck, jumping up. There was
nobody there. He looked round the room and under the table and a
great many times behind him, but there was certainly nobody there, and
he sat down again at the window. This time he didn't speak, but he

couldn't help thinking again that it would be very convenient if the river
were really all gold.
"Not at all, my boy," said the same voice, louder than before.
"Bless me!" said Gluck again, "what is that?" He looked again into all
the corners and cupboards, and then began turning round and round as
fast as he could, in the middle of the room, thinking there was
somebody behind him, when the same voice struck again on his ear. It
was singing now, very merrily, "Lala- lira-la"--no words, only a soft,
running, effervescent melody, something like that of a kettle on the boil.
Gluck looked out of the window; no, it was certainly in the house.
Upstairs and downstairs; no, it was certainly in that very room, coming
in quicker time and clearer notes every moment: "Lala-lira-la." All at
once it struck Gluck that it sounded louder near the furnace. He ran to
the opening and looked in. Yes, he saw right; it seemed to be coming
not only out of the furnace but out of the pot. He uncovered it, and ran
back in a great fright, for the pot was certainly singing! He stood in the
farthest corner of the room, with his hands up and his mouth open, for a
minute or two, when the singing stopped and the voice became clear
and pronunciative.
"Hollo!" said the voice.
Gluck made no answer.
"Hollo! Gluck, my boy," said the pot again.
Gluck summoned all his energies, walked straight up to the crucible,
drew it out of the furnace, and looked in. The gold was all melted and
its surface as smooth and polished as a river, but instead of reflecting
little Gluck's head, as he looked in he saw, meeting his glance from
beneath the gold, the