COAL PETER: Well, you know, it’s quite possible. People who see something especially horrible can get a peculiar look in their eyes forever.
MILLER’S SON: But what do you think he might have seen that was so very horrible?
COAL PETER: Well, I’m not sure, but did you know that on the other side of the Black Forest, where the lumberjacks and raftsmen live, people say that something not quite right is going on?
MILLER’S SON: Oh, I know, you must be talking about Dutch Michael. My father has already told me about him. He’s the giant of the forest, the coarse, broad-shouldered chap, and those who have seen him say they would not like to pay for the calves’ hides it would take to make one pair of his boots.
COAL PETER: Yes, I was just thinking of him.
MILLER’S SON: So you do know something about him after all, Mr. Peter.
COAL PETER: Shame on you, child, for saying such a thing. How should I know anything about Dutch Michael? Sometimes when I hear what people are saying, I ask myself: Isn’t it just envy? Aren’t they simply envious of the lumberjacks who are always swaggering around like lords in their doublets with buttons, buckles, and chains, draped in half a hundredweight of silver? Anybody could get jealous, seeing that.
MILLER’S SON: Have you been envious of it too, Mr. Peter?
COAL PETER: Envious, good heavens no, I have no cause for that; I’m the last one to be envious.
MILLER’S SON: So that means then that you yourself are that rich, Mr. Peter? Or maybe even richer?
COAL PETER: Surely, my boy, you must have noticed that I am a poor wretch. I don’t have an ounce of silver on me, here or at home. But I have something even better. Only I can’t tell you what it is.
MILLER’S SON: Now you’ve made me curious. I won’t leave your room until you’ve told me.
COAL PETER: Well, can you keep a secret?
MILLER’S SON: Of course, Mr. Peter, I promise you that no one will hear it from me.
COAL PETER: In that case, let me ask you something. Have you ever heard of the Little Glass Man? The Little Glass Man who never shows up without his peaked hat with a broad rim, a doublet, white trousers, and red stockings. The friend of glass makers and coal burners and all the other poor people who live on this side of the woods.
MILLER’S SON: The Little Glass Man? No, Mr. Peter, never heard of him.
COAL PETER: Then perhaps you’ve heard of Sunday’s Child?
MILLER’S SON: Oh, yes, those who are born on Sunday at noon.
COAL PETER: Well, that’s me. Do you understand? — but that’s only half my secret. The other half is my rhyme.
MILLER’S SON: Now, I can’t follow a word you are saying, Mr. Peter.
COAL PETER: The Little Glass Man, you see, he appears to Sunday’s Children, but only under a pine hillock, where the trees are so dense and stand so tall that even in broad daylight it’s almost night, and where one hears neither an ax nor even a bird, if one knows the right rhyme. And that my mother taught me.
MILLER’S SON: Surely, you are to be envied, Mr. Peter.
COAL PETER: Yes, one might envy me had I memorized the little rhyme, but when I stood there before the pine tree and wanted to recite it, I realized I had forgotten the last line. The Little Glass Man vanished as quickly as he had appeared. “Mr. Glass Man,” I called, after some hesitation, “be so kind as not to make a fool of me. Mr. Glass Man, if you think I didn’t see you, you are quite mistaken. I saw you peeking out from behind the tree.” But there was no answer, and only at times did I hear a soft, rasping chuckle from behind the tree. Finally, I thought, with one leap, I could catch that little guy. When I sprang behind the pine tree, though, there was no Little Glass Man anywhere to be found; there was only a dainty little squirrel racing up the trunk.
MILLER’S SON: So, Mr. Peter, you’ve just come from the Little Glass Man?
COAL PETER: That’s right.
MILLER’S SON: But now you must tell me your rhyme, as much as you remember of it.
COAL PETER: No, my boy. It’s gotten late and we should get some sleep — and your three bad men, you will have forgotten them by tomorrow, and when we wake up, we’ll all be cheerful.
MILLER’S SON: Well then, good night, Mr. Peter. But I’m not cheerful, because you didn’t tell me the rhyme.
We hear the two saying goodnight.
COAL PETER: Now I’m alone and want to sleep. I don’t want to recite the rhyme to anyone but the Little Glass Man, oh, if only I remembered it!
A little music. Peter sings along in a drowsy voice.
Keeper of wealth in the forest of pine,
Hundreds of years are surely thine:
Thine is the tall pine’s dwelling place—5
COAL PETER (in a drowsy voice): The tall pine’s dwelling place, the tall pine’s dwelling place — if I only knew the rest.
The music comes to an end. After a short pause, we hear six chimes.
ANNOUNCER: Here I am again, back in the Black Forest mill, together with Coal Peter. It’s six o’clock. I bet Coal Peter slept the whole night in the back of a cart and it won’t be so easy to wake him. Coal Peter is snoring. Faint music grows slowly stronger. We hear one or two verses sung.
COAL PETER (very drowsy): Huh, a music box for an alarm clock. I would like to wake up to lovely music every morning, like a prince. But no, it’s coming from outside: apprentice craftsmen! They’re certainly up early.
We hear singing:
I stood upon the brightest place,
I gazed upon the plain,
And then — oh then — I saw that face,
I never saw again.6
COAL PETER: Hey, you there! Encore, encore! Sing it again!
The music fades away and the singing becomes fainter.
Well, they don’t care much for me. And they’re gone, beyond the hills.
(More quietly and wistfully.) How did it go again? (Humming quietly to the same melody.) Oh then — I saw that face, oh then — I saw that face — so then, “face,” that’s the rhyme. Face for place, now Little Glass Man, let’s have our little chat again.
He whistles a little to himself.
ANNOUNCER: What’s your hurry, Mr. Peter Munk? I had just been hopelessly wondering how to get you back on your feet and on your way home. And suddenly here you are, racing by in such haste.
COAL PETER (in a hurry): Let me go, Mr. Announcer, let me go. I just remembered my rhyme—
ANNOUNCER: Rhyme? What sort of rhyme?
COAL PETER: Shh, I’m on a mission. I can’t say another word. You’ll find out soon enough. Goodbye, Mr. Announcer!
ANNOUNCER: What an odd bird. (Calling after him.) Just steer clear of Dutch Michael! Bye, Peter!
COAL PETER: So, here’s the tall pine. Now pay attention Peter, here we go:
Keeper of wealth in the forest of pine,
Hundreds of years are surely thine,
Thine is the tall pine’s dwelling place,
Those born on Sunday see thy face.7
LITTLE GLASS MAN: You didn’t get it quite right, but since it’s you, Coal Peter, I’ll let it slide. Did you run into that rascal, Dutch Michael?
COAL PETER: Indeed I did, Keeper of Wealth, and I was terribly scared. I’ve come to ask your advice. Things aren’t going well for me, they’re not easy. A coal burner won’t get very far, and being young, I thought, perhaps I could make more of myself. I often look at others and think how far they’ve gotten in such a short time — I need only mention Ezekiel and the Dance Hall King, who are rolling in the dough.